Epic
by Queen Kez the Wicked
Summary: COMPLETE. Racetrack doesn't interfere with the affairs of others. So why does he agree to take Dutchy to the Dark side of New York City on an impossible mission? Why does he care what happens to Specs? He's seen it before. He's seen it all.
1. fever

****

Note: After lying untouched in the depths of my computer for almost a year I found this thing again and decided to give it a shot. Think "His Dark Materials" meets "Neverwhere" meets "Newsies" meets film noir. Or simply read it. Just don't expect to understand it. Yet.

- -

Evil was in the air and it hit him like a punch to the gut. One minute he was sleeping, smiling in his dreams, with the next he was awake and supporting his upright and heaving, sweating frame with aching palms. Screams and sobs and rushing wind filled his ears and his eyes were frozen shock wide open and bloodshot, seeing nothing but fear.

When he woke for real he found that tears, still fresh, had plastered his thin, straw-blonde hair to his high cheekbones. He was curled into a ball in the still dark of the morning and he had never felt so miserable. The room was strangely silent. This served only to amplify the harsh, ragged breathing of the person occupying the bunk beneath his. His eyes stung and he felt more silent tears fight forth.

Danya Ivanov was sinking into despair. He didn't dare look below.

I woke and I felt dirty, sick to my soul, blind. A headache threatened behind my eyes. The room was silent but for one sound, the sound that had drawn me from sleep. I propped myself up on one unwilling elbow and let my gaze find its own way to the source.

Dutchy.

"Shit," muttered a familiar voice above me. Kid Blink was awake, temper too. Unless…

My eyes fell downwards. Specs. Shit. Kid narrowly missed me as he jumped down from his bunk, shivering in the silent chill. Strange for it to be cold in the middle of July, but everything has a reason.

I closed my eyes tightly and rolled away from the scene. I promised myself I wouldn't get dragged into anything, but even as I spoke it in my mind I knew it wasn't true.

Kid grabbed my shoulder and roughly turned me back over.

"Race. Racetrack. Ov-"

"I know," I said, eyes still shut. Dutchy's sobs were relentless. I felt that I might throw up. I opened my eyes and found Kid crouching by my bunk, looking the other way uneasily. Emotion is not a thing usually shown in a lodging house full of boys. Maybe this was one of the times I could understand it. Specs…

Bumlets appeared next to Kid, sleep still clouding his eyes. The mess of jet black hair on his head from the night usually would've prompted a sly remark from me. This morning was too serious for any joking.

"Shit," he said. Kid and I nodded dumbly. All around the room people were waking up, taking in the situation, trying desperately to find a way out. My own stomach churned and I rubbed at my forehead.

"How does Dutch even know?" Asked Snoddy, whose tall shadow covered my own from his position behind me. "He hasn't moved from his bunk. He hasn't… seen."

Kid stood. "How do you think he knows?" Snoddy was silent. Specs was Dutchy's One Love, we all knew that. Dutchy would know if he was… in danger. Just as Specs would the opposite. But why…

"Why Specs?" I voiced my thoughts in a mumble but Bumlets heard me. He shook his head in answer. No one knew. "How bad is it?" Was my next question, but again no one could answer. Not one boy had gone near the set of bunks. I sighed, slid out of bed, and took the first step. Pie-eater blocked my path with no warning of his approach. His kind brown eyes focused on my own and seemed concerned. I brushed by him with a shiver. Pie was nice but he gave me the creeps. Probably because he never spoke.

I knelt by Specs' prone form and reached a hand towards his head. It only got halfway there before I was knocked to the floor. With a snarl, Dutchy had leapt at last from his bed… unfortunately, on to me. He choked back another sob.

"_Get away from him_!"

I stumbled backwards with my hands and watched as Dutchy turned to his Love and latched onto a hand. Every few seconds Specs' chest rose. He was alive. At this point.

The whole house was alert by now, but there was nobody near us and nobody talking. I shivered again.

"Dutchy," I said quietly. "Dutchy. It's Racetrack. It's Race. Come on, Dutch…"

His head moved and he took me in slowly, dry, cracked lips quivering. I crawled next to him and took a long look at Specs. He seemed normal, just sleeping. At this point. I knew what would happen. You could feel an aura around his form, it just made you feel… _bad. _It left a stale taste in your mouth and made you tired, depressed. Hopeless. It filled the room.

Dutchy knelt with Specs' chest, now. I stood and gave his shoulder an awkward squeeze, then returned to my bunk. There was a small circle surrounding it.

"Well?" Kid demanded when I broke through. "Is it… you know. Is it?"

I hesitated, nodded.

"Fever," said Skittery as if he were trying the word out. He met my eyes and winced.

"The Fever," I whispered in agreement.

"How long's the sucker got?" Snoddy was stretched out on my bunk. He was trying to sound indifferent.

I shrugged. "Days. A week? I don't know. I didn't… I didn't feel anything last night. So maybe it's not strong."

"Ah, you've been comfortable here for too long," Kid said bitterly. "Haven't been over there in a long time, have you? It was clear, Race kid." He shuddered involuntarily. "It was strong."

Bumlets and Snoddy murmured their agreement, the others just looked uncomfortable. I shifted and cleared my throat.

"Right… let's get ready, then."

They moved off and I looked back to Dutchy. He was still in the same position. I took a deep breath and returned to him, weaving my way among the rest of the house, who had followed our example and were filing into the washroom.

"Dutchy kid… we gotta sell. Boy. Come on. You gotta get ready. Specs'll… he'll still be here when you get back. Promise."

Dutchy made no indication that he had heard any word I'd said.

"Dutchy. Let's _go._ You need money, kid. Up, let's go. Kloppman will look after your boy."

He refused to talk, move, or stop crying. I grunted, exasperated, and went into the washroom without him. I tried not to judge.

After all… I had never watched someone I loved have their soul eaten.


	2. pact

****

two: pact.

-

We went out selling as we usually would, trying painfully hard to act normally. Snoddy was the first to approach me about it, his dark eyes brooding. We were waiting in line at the gates, and there was a strange, hushed silence that no one dared to break.

"Why Specs, Race?" He asked in a nervous whisper. "I don't get it, why Specs?" I looked up to meet his eyes, myself still a little dazed from all the action.

"I don't know," I said lamely.

"I mean, it's Specs, man. What has Specs done?"

I was beginning to see the reasons for his apprehension.

"I mean, if Specs can… ya know… if Specs can be hit like this, what about…" He trailed off and gave me a pointed look.

"What about you guys who have been spending more time there?"

"Well, yeah," Snoddy said, uncomfortable now that I had said it out loud. He looked around, but the only person paying attention to us was Kid Blink, who now moved in a little closer. His blond hair was a little damp, and his ragged eye patch askew. We all looked pretty haggard.

"I agree," he said. "Enough with Specs, who's to say we ain't all gonna-"

"I'm sure there's a reason," I interrupted. "There must be."

Bumlets was standing in line in front of me, and asked, "What if it was something Dutchy did?" without turning around. Everyone paused.

"It could happen," Blink murmured. "It could definitely happen. That's exactly the kind of punishment they would give."

"Yeah, but who's they?" Bumlets turned to face us. "You can't just group all of those… people… creatures… whatever -- you can't group them all together, it's unfair," he said.

Blink shrugged. "Just sayin."

The gates would be open in a minute, so I said "As long as you boys have been staying out of trouble, I'm sure we don't have anything to worry about," as a way to table the subject until a later time. No one answered me, they just went through the gates in a grim silence. I had a feeling it would be a long day.

-

We met - Kid Blink, Snoddy, Bumlets, Skittery, and I - in a secluded area of woods in a small park around lunchtime, before the afternoon edition. Bumlets had called us together, but now that we were all standing quietly, he didn't seem to know quite what to say. Finally he cleared his throat and stood up from the stump he had been sitting on.

"Listen," he said. "Something needs to be done. And I think that we're the best ones to figure out what."

"Yeah, and why's that?" Skittery asked, clearly irked at missing his lunch.

"Because. We've all… we've all been there and we're all still here."

"Yeah," said Snoddy, not satisfied with the answer, "yeah, and so's Oscar Delancy, but I don't see his happy face in the crowd."

"Oscar is crazy," Bumlets said patiently. "Come on, you know that. Everyone else either knows too little about the situation at hand, or too much. Too little exposure, or too much."

Skittery was still trying to prove Bumlets wrong and thus free himself. "Jack?" He suggested.

"Too little," Bumlets said with a sigh. "Come on, that one is obvious."

"Mush?"

"Too little."

"…Pie-eater?"

No one answered him for a moment, and Skittery looked triumphant until he saw the looks on our faces.

"Too much," I said to him, slowly, firmly. He looked down and didn't say anything else.

"So that's settled," said Bumlets. "We have to take charge, here. We can't just watch this happen to one of our friends, our brothers. We need to do something, because Dutchy is obviously in no shape to work it out himself."

"Ok, well, what needs to be done?" Snoddy asked.

"He has the Fever," Skittery said dumbly, still staring at the ground.

"So… he needs a cure," Blink said, and Bumlets nodded. I remained quiet.

"And if whatever he has came from the Dark, whatever he needs will have to come from there, too," Bumlets said. He was leading us around to the point slowly, and I felt a growing fear in my heart as we approached it.

"Dutchy will have to go there to find the cure," I said, eyes closed. "And he can't do it alone."

At this, all heads turned to look at me. I could feel it. I knew it was going to happen. I opened my eyes.

"I can't do it," I said hoarsely. "I can't, I can't."

"Race," Bumlets said gently. "You know your way around. He has the best chance with you. Besides, everyone else has other things, distractions, it could hurt the purpose of everything."

"I haven't been there in over a year," I said. "Who says I know my way around?"

"You just do," Blink said uncomfortably. "You know what I mean, you… you just _do._"

I said nothing.

"It's not like you would be on your own," Bumlets said quickly. "We'd all be willing to help you along the way."

Snoddy was frowning. "You guys are talking about this like it's some epic journey. So he goes in, gets the cure (can't you buy those at any market?) and gets out safe. Sure it's dangerous. But… well, so what?"

Bumlets hesitated for a second, and it made me wince. He obviously disagreed, but didn't say so.

"Yes," he said slowly. "That's the way it goes, in theory."

"We should make a pact," said Blink suddenly. "You know, a bond. A brotherhood. So Race knows we're all in this together."

I still said nothing. I felt cold all over.

Bumlets nodded and Blink found a pocketknife in one of his boots. "C'mere," he said to Skittery, and then nicked him below the left ear with the knife."

"_OW_!" Skittery yelled. "I could've used some sort of warning… ya bastard…" He pressed his fingers to it and glared around at us. Bumlets was next, then me - I didn't even feel it, I was so numb - and then Blink handed the knife to me, and I cut him without emotion.

"Thanks, Race," Bumlets said quietly, although I had never agreed to it. "Luck to you."

-

We went together to the park entrance and then split up, not one word exchanged. I walked slowly, enjoying the sunny July warmth while I still could.

-

I found Dutchy in the same position as we had left him: kneeling at Specs' bunk, his head on the other boy's chest, his arms acting as a sort of pillow. Dutchy was asleep, and since myself and Pie-eater were the first ones back to the Lodging House after finishing selling, the room was quiet and he was undisturbed. Pie went to his bunk and sat, watching us with those big brown eyes, and I approached Dutchy cautiously. The last thing I wanted was another breakdown like that morning.

Luckily, he seemed much more subdued when I woke him with a hand on his shoulder. Dutchy just looked up at me wearily and then stood up stiffly and yawned a little.

"Hi," he said thickly, and rubbed at his eyes.

"Hey," I said. "How's, uhm… well, how are you doing?"

Dutchy shrugged. "Could be better, I guess," he said with the ghost of a bitter smile. "Long day. It's… it's cold up here. Freezing. I haven't moved but all my energy is just… gone."

I nodded wordlessly. Whether or not he knew it, Dutchy was described the exact conditions of a curse like Specs' illness.

"Listen can I talk to you? Come sit on my bunk, or something? Pie will, uh, he'll watch over Specs." I looked over to Pie (who I knew was listening) for confirmation, and he nodded slowly.

Dutchy looked wistfully back to his Love, then sighed and followed me, sitting himself in such a way that he could still see Specs out of the corner of his eye.

"I don't think he's getting any better," he said bluntly.

"Yeah, well… listen Dutch," I said. I wasn't like Bumlets: I had to get right to the point. "Specs isn't going to get any better without your help. And I don't mean you watching over him and looking after him. I mean you going out and doing something for him." I paused to take a breath. "In order to help Specs, you're going to have to leave him behind."

Dutchy looked both hurt and confused. "What?"

"Specs is sick," I said. "But no doctor here can help him. We need to find an antidote for his sickness, and you need to be the one to do that."

"But wouldn't I be better off staying near to him, protecting him?" Dutchy asked, his voice beginning to rise a little. "Why couldn't someone else get this cure and bring it back to me, why-"

"Because," I said calmly. "Because. You're his Love."

Dutchy fell silent, beginning to understand.

"So I have to do it," he said.

"Yes, but you won't be alone," I said quickly. "I'm coming to help you."

I felt that dread settle back into my heart as I said these words. It was a lot easier to convince someone else to go than it was to convince myself.

Dutchy tore his gaze away from Specs to look at me and smiled. There was so much warmth, gratitude, and sincerity in that smile that I knew I couldn't change my mind. Not then, not ever. The mark below my ear started stinging again as if to remind me.

"Thank you," he said quietly, then stood and returned to Specs' side. "I'll need an hour before we leave," he said over his shoulder. "Just an hour, I think."

"I don't think we should go tonight," I told him. I laid back in my bunk and dug around in my shirt pocket until I found a well chewed cigar. "It'll be a little easier in the morning. A little safer. And besides, there's some people I want to talk to tonight."

I noticed then that Dutchy had not asked where we were going. Maybe he knew. Maybe not. Maybe he was just willing to travel wherever he had to in order to save Specs. I didn't understand it, that sort of determination, and for a second I was just a little sad because I probably never would.


	3. eve

**three: **eve.

I don't know how I convinced Dutchy to get to sleep at all, never mind on the opposite side of the room from Specs. I wanted him to be well rested, and that just wasn't going to happen if he was anywhere near his ailing Love. More and more lodgers trickled in as night fell, and each made a clear path around Specs' bunk. Kloppman had abandoned the building entirely, but luckily had left the keys behind. He was easily spooked and apparently didn't dare spend even a night in the vicinity of Specs or the Fever. I had never known how Kloppman had felt about things like this, or even if he had known about them, but I suppose that I had never asked.

I sat on my own bunk chewing absentmindedly on my cigar. Pie-eater was now lying on Dutchy's bed with his arms under his head, faithfully staying near the ailing boy as he had promised hours before. Sometimes I felt that Pie was like a dog, he would just do whatever you asked and not think of stopping or changing until you gave the okay. Of course, I knew this wasn't true; there was too much intelligence behind his eyes and too much mystery surrounding his actions in general. Clearly, something had happened – it's just that, like with Kloppman, no one had ever thought – dared – to ask what.

From the corner of my eye I saw Snoddy take a seat on the bunk across from me and I grunted in acknowledgement. He hesitated noticeably, then cleared his throat, so I cut short my musings on Pie-eater and took the cigar out of my mouth.

"Yeah?" I asked, nonplussed. I figured my day couldn't get any worse. He cleared his throat again, clearly agitated, then scanned the bunkroom and grabbed something from under his shirt and offered it to me. I glanced at his hand, then raised an eyebrow and shook my head.

"Snoddy," I said, "what the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

"Just take it," he grumbled, obviously annoyed that I didn't recognize the significance of whatever he was holding. I shrugged and accepted the pouch, which was full of buttons, and shoved it under my pillow.

"Trust me," he said, and was about to leave when Bumlets came and sat beside him, effectively blocking his exit. Kid Blink dragged a chair over and we all looked at each other for a few beats.

"I dunno what else there is to say, boys," I said wearily.

"Do you have everything ready? Are you leaving first thing in the morning? Will Dutchy be ready?" Bumlets asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Yes, mom," I said, but no one even smiled.

There was another silence.

"Sofia's?" Kid Blink asked finally.

"I thought so," I said. Everyone else nodded in agreement, but Blink wasn't done.

"What do you have?"

"Uh, some money –"

"Coins?"

"Of course… and cigars." I shrugged. "I guess I figure she'll go for the story."

"Yeah," Blink agreed with a shrug, then tossed me something. It was a small packet wrapped in brown paper, and its contents rattled around when I caught it. It fit easily into the palm of my hand.

"What is it with you guys?" I said with a shake of my head, motioning to the packet and raising an eyebrow again. Bumlets and Blink looked confused, but Snoddy shot me a look that was clearly said, "cease and desist." "Um, the sad looks," I said lamely, making a mental note to question Snoddy later. "It's going to be fine. We'll be in, we'll be out."

"Whatever," said Blink, suddenly distracted. "Those are seeds, by the way," he added. "For Sofia, if you need them."

"Okay," I said, and tucked it under my pillow. Blink must have nicked them that afternoon. "Thanks."

"I'm sorry I don't have a present for you," Bumlets said with a grin. "Maybe next year."

"How about some advice instead?" Skittery had appeared and rested his arm against the bunk above mine. He looked at me pointedly. "Don't go."

As if I needed someone to talk me out of it. "Skitts… come on. We already talked about this."

"I'm serious," he said, even as the other three glared daggers. "Don't do it. It's not worth it. It's not… you going with him… it's not even in the spirit of that place."

I looked at the floor, then at Dutchy, who tossed and turned in a his sleep.

"It's in the spirit of this place," I said firmly, still watching him. "And this I believe in."

Skittery laughed out loud. "Ok, hero. It really has been awhile, hasn't it? Shit, I thought you were lying before when you said a whole year."

I shrugged. "Maybe even more. I like it here," I said quietly. "I don't need to go there anymore. I like it here."

The bunkroom was quieting down as the other boys decided they were ready to turn in. It was hard to judge the time without Kloppman yelling up at us. We all exchanged glances. Skittery looked at me again and shrugged, giving up his case, but I noticed that he absently touched the scab below his left ear as he moved away. Bumlets and Snoddy stood and Blink clambered up onto his own bunk. Snoddy refused to meet my eyes but muttered something encouraging, then disappeared to the other side of the room. Bumlets grasped my arm and took a step closer.

"_Buena suerte_," he said warmly. "Good luck, kid. I have faith." He squeezed once, and then he too was gone. I collapsed back on my bunk and took out my cigar. I suddenly felt incredibly empty and totally alone, and for once the cigar gave me no comfort. I let it rest on my chest and stared blankly up at the bottom of Blink's bunk. My eyes ran over the words and drawings carved into the slats without really seeing them. I had memorized the symbols long ago. My own mark was left right above my head; a neat column of the outlines of the four suites in playing cards. I ran my thumb over the spade and swallowed a lump in my throat.Someone killed the lights, and a few seconds later Blink's head appeared over the edge. What little moonlight there was gave his hair a pale glow.

"Race," he said. "Are you scared?" It wasn't a typical Blink question and I almost smiled despite myself.

"No," I said. "No, I'm not scared, I'm…" I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding. "I'm just tired, Blink," I whispered. "I'm so tired. I thought I was done. I thought… I thought I could stay."

Blink's sigh echoed the weight of my own.

"I don't think it works that way, Race," he said, and rolled back to his pillow.

Gradually the exhaustion in my bones caught up with my restless mind and I fell into an uncomfortable sleep, waking often from dark and scattered, nonsensical dreams.

The sun had just barely risen when Dutchy appeared at my head, all dressed and ready to go. His glasses were a little askew and his eyes were still rimmed red, but he had resolve in his stance and determination set in the hard line of his mouth. I crawled stiffly out of bed and hoped he did not see the resignation in my movements.

Almost as an afterthought, I grabbed the pouch of buttons and the seed packet from under my pillow and stashed them away on my person.

"Come on," I said gruffly, and he turned and left the bunkroom without even a glance back. I admired that. I myself stopped at the doorway and let my gaze wander over my sleeping friends, envying them in their security and in the bright sun that would shine on their backs that day. I wondered if I would miss the stifling heat of a New York July. I shivered, and turned to the stairs. I had promised myself I wouldn't think of… _that_… of _there_, until I had to. Dutchy waited by the bottom of the stairs expectantly. I closed the door and went to meet him, doing my best to swallow my doubts.

We left the building without exchanging a word and emerged into a New York already alive with smoke and noise. I automatically checked to make sure I had my cigars and coins, and we were on our way. We walked abreast, my eyes on the cobblestones beneath our feet and his surveying the passing scenery as if seeing it for the first time. I wanted desperately to break the silence but had no idea how to go about it, so the sun continued to rise and we continued to stride in silence. We were headed south; south to Battery Park and the edge of the world.


	4. welcome

**note: **So, this is basically an explanation chapter, and I apologize profusely if it's boring… just stick with me. Questions not answered in this chapter will almost certainly be answered throughout the story, but I would still love to hear any questions _you guys_ have so I can make sure to address them. Thanks a lot. –Keza.

**four: **welcome.

* * *

The sun beat down on the back of my neck as we walked and I felt suddenly uncomfortable with our shared silence. Dutchy's stride was long and purposeful and his eyes stared straight ahead. I wondered what he was thinking about. He gave no indication that he even noticed my gaze. About a block later, I couldn't take it anymore.

"Dutch," I said, squinting up at him, "don't you even want to know where we're going?"

He looked at me and blinked, confused, as if he'd been in some sort of trance and only my voice had broken it. He shrugged.

"I mean, I guess. I just figured you didn't want to tell me." He was indifferent, and I was struck again by his determination – he didn't care what he had to do to complete his task. In that sense, he was fearless, and for that, I was envious. My own head was swimming with doubts, misgivings, and the occasional twinge of terror. Here we were out in broad daylight, nearing Battery Park of all places, and still every time I saw movement from the corner of my eye or an unexpected flash or noise, my muscles tensed and I started involuntarily. We must have cut a funny image, Dutchy and I. He was tall, gangly, and stone faced, while I was a head shorter with shifty eyes and a new habit of jumping at every shadow.

"No," I admitted, fixing my gaze forward once more. "I don't really want to get into it. But I need to." I took a breath. "Alright. We're going to somewhere, Dutch, somewhere in the city that I don't think you've ever been. You see, there are… well, there are two New Yorks." I risked a glance over, but he remained emotionless. "Specs' sickness, it was… or… he caught it from the other New York. That's why we have to go there – a Fever from the other side can only be cured with an antidote from the other side." A pause.

"He caught it?" Dutchy asked, and looked at me carefully as he said it.

I didn't meet his eyes, but realized that from that moment on I couldn't sugarcoat anything.

"Actually, I don't think so. I mean, we don't know for sure, but… but it seems like someone – or something – sent the Fever over. Like a curse."

"A curse," Dutchy echoed dumbly. "Why?"

"I was sorta hoping you could help answer that," I said. "We don't know."

Dutchy looked like he was going to say something, opened his mouth, closed it, then frowned and said, "Who's we?"

"Uh, me, Kid Blink… Skitts, Snoddy, Bumlets. We talked about your situation, you know… decided to help." I felt awkward saying it, but he just nodded an 'okay.' I didn't mention the pact or any of that, for some reason it just didn't feel quite right at the time.

There was a long silence before Dutchy next spoke.

"Specs… he had been acting weird – distant. Not lately, though, I mean, I wasn't expecting anything." As he got going, his words came in a rush. "But a few months back, things were real bad. He wasn't always around, and he was secretive when we _were_ together. When he wasn't distant he was testy or scared. That's when I was worried, when I thought that if something hadn't already happened, it would soon. And then… it passed. One day he was just back to normal, better than normal, even. And since then, everything has been fine." He saw my obvious confusion. "I never asked," he added, sounding apologetic. "I just wanted him to stay himself, you know? I guess now… well… I wish I knew now. What do you think?"

"I don't know," I said truthfully. I had never noticed Specs' change in mood, but we had never been close, and besides, I tended to keep to myself. "They could certainly be connected, but we won't know for sure until we get more information. Hopefully from Specs himself," I added almost as an afterthought.

Dutchy nodded. I was glad he was back on the same planet as me, even better that he wasn't allowing his emotions to cloud his obvious good sense.

"Ok," he said. "Tell me – tell me about this other New York. I want to know everything there is to know."

I smiled bitterly. "Everything? You're asking the wrong person. I… haven't been over to the other side in a long time. But I'll at least tell you everything _I _know." I hesitated because Dutchy looked uncomfortable, then I understood. "You want to know why I'm bringing you, and not one of the others," I said. He shrugged.

"I don't mean to insult you."

"No, not at all. It doesn't really make sense until you know more about this… thing. See, you can go in and out of this place, obviously. But if you do it too frequently – if I was to go in today, come out tomorrow, say, and then go back in, I'd get sick."

"Oh. Have you ever been sick like that?"

"No, but I've seen it." Involuntarily, the image came up in my mind and I grimaced. "Those other boys, they've been in and out a lot lately, I guess. So they don't wanna have to do another quick in and out trip. It's just not healthy."

Dutchy was silent, processing all this. I gave him a few seconds, then continued.

"There are a lot of names for it, this other side. Sometimes people refer to it as just that, the "other side," or even simply "it." We call it the Dark. A lot of people call it that – people who live on this side, at least."

"Can someone from this side live on the other side?"

"You mean, like, permanently? Yes. But it's hard. It's different over there, of course. Think of how paranoid you are over here, sometimes, like maybe cutting through an alley in the middle of the night… or goin through Brooklyn or something. Imagine ten times that feeling. You gotta watch your every mood and learn to always keep your eyes open, even when you think you're safe or alone. The Dark is not pure evil, but it's pretty close. Things in there are just _bad_, they just _feel_ bad. If you remember one thing that I tell you today, just remember this: no one is honest. That includes your senses. Trust yourself, trust your brain and how fast you can run, but be careful when you think about trusting your heart, or even your eyes. The Dark is full of a lot of people – of things – that want to deceive you."

"So why would anyone want to live there?"

Again, an image popped into my head, and I couldn't push it away.

"Sometimes," I said slowly, "sometimes a person is so sad, or so confused, that they don't think they can function on this side, and they… it's like they take refuge on the other side. Others like to make it all a game, smuggling and stealing and generally just taking advantage of people. And I guess there must be some whose souls are just so twisted they feel more at home over there than they do here."

Dutchy still looked bothered, and finally said, "You don't think-"

"No," I said firmly. "Definitely not. I don't know what Specs was doing, or even if he was involved with the Dark, but there's no way he would have decided to stay there. He had you, and he came back to you. And it's a lot easier to give up and stay than it is to come back. No. It sounds more like Specs made a mistake."

Dutchy tried not to show his relief. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"Just keep your head down and you'll be fine," I assured him. "Besides, we won't be there long." For whatever reason, this felt like a lie. I didn't believe it even as I said it, but Dutch seemed satisfied. He was almost… excited to go over – or at least very curious. I sighed inwardly, and wished myself to be anywhere else.

"So, do you know what the Cure is?" Dutchy asked. We had stopped under a large tree so I could smoke a cigarette and generally enjoy my last few moments feeling a warm breeze under the cool of the elm's shade.

"Nope," I answered honestly, closing my eyes with my first drag. Heavenly. "But I know someone who does, and that's the important part. She'll have it, this I'm sure of." I smiled, eyes still closed. "Her name's Sofia. She does stuff like that – potions and antidotes, curses, hexes, whatever. She's good – probably the best. But she doesn't like to make things unless she really wants to, unless she feels like she has a reason. I guess she's weird like that. Anyway, that's another reason you're here with me. She'll want to hear your story, all about you and Specs." I took one last hit and stubbed the remains out on the bark of the tree at my back. "The entrance here in Battery Park spits us out somewhere near her shop, but I won't know where for sure until we get there, so… well, I guess it's time that we go."

Dutchy just nodded his assent, then squared his shoulders. I almost laughed. "Come on," I said, and motioned for him to follow. We walked to the edge of the park and I allowed myself one last pause as I gazed out to the water, listening to the seagulls and the waves breaking, and feeling sad for a moment. The moment passed. I squatted down at the edge of the path while Dutchy looked on. After a little searching, I found what I was looking for; two nondescript stones, each about the size of my palm, embedded in the dirt. I stood up, brushed off my knees, and stepped on the stones so one foot covered each.

"Stand on these like I am," I told Dutchy. "And then…" I laughed, and launched myself over the edge. I heard a strangled sound of surprise from my companion, but ignored it and instead watched the water as it rushed toward me. Just as I was about to be smashed to pieces on the rocks below, I heard a rushing sound not unlike a large wave.

I landed on my feet but pitched forward onto my knees and winced. Cobblestones. Rain. Heavy air. I remained on my knees and felt my heartbeat quicken, felt my hands tingle, felt a familiar panic rise in my throat. Something wasn't right, something was absolutely, undoubtedly, _wrong_. I stood quickly and spun in a circle, but I was alone, I was on a main street but it was completely deserted. I remained still and tried to get my bearings, but my brain refused and the panic only increased. Dutchy hit the cobblestones with a crash behind me, and got up looking nauseous.

"Race?" He asked warily, frowning at me. "Race, are you alright?"

I tried to slow my breathing, tried to get my eyes to focus on Dutchy, but I couldn't. I felt ill, I felt scared out of my mind. _Something wasn't right._ For a fleeting second I thought it was just because I hadn't been over in so long, thought maybe I was getting flashbacks, but… No. No. Dutchy was fine, albeit confused and worried. And I… I felt like I was going to scream. I walked to the nearest building and sat against it, trying to breathe slowly. The street remained deserted. Dutchy followed me and looked around.

"Race," he said again, but I just shook my head.

"Just give me a minute," I rasped, battling with my senses. My hands shook faintly.

I rubbed at my eyes, got my breathing under control, stood slowly. Every part of me was telling me to go back, except… except the mark behind my left ear. It itched and I touched it absently, remembering the pact, remembering Dutchy, and Specs, Kloppman, the bunkroom… it didn't matter what was wrong. I had to go through with it, with everything. I walked away from the wall and looked apprehensively east. The rain was cold, and I noticed now that Dutchy was shivering. I began to walk, and he followed. We walked in the middle of the road. I looked back.

"Welcome," I said, and his teeth chattered as he smiled bitterly. "Welcome to the Dark. I hope you enjoy your stay, because now there is no turning back."


	5. ashes

**five: **ashes.

I could tell you that the Dark is organized in blocks, simple and effective, but this is not entirely accurate. Sure, streets and alleyways crisscross and intersect and split the shops and buildings, but the actual makeup of these areas is in no way uniform. Roads are crooked, buildings are crooked; they are all shapes and sizes, some stacked up like so many layers on a wedding cake and looking like they are a splinter away from total collapse, whilst others consist of only a box with a door leading to stairs that themselves open up to a similarly messy underground maze.

What isn't black or gray can be painted in one of hundreds of garish colors, but even these hues were muted with the present drizzle. It was persistent and cold and dripping into my eyes and down my shirt. The weather, the atmosphere, my wet clothes that stuck to me like a second skin – everything, coupled with the queasy feeling in my stomach, left me second guessing myself a hundred times a minute. I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes, sit down in the middle of the street, and just give up. Just throw up my hands, shrug my shoulders, and wake up in my bunk at the Lodging House for breakfast and an apology. Sorry, boys, I just couldn't do it. Sorry.

Neither the drizzle nor the silence showed any sign of abating. I paused and looked quickly around after we reached an intersection. Dutchy almost ran into me, he was so caught up in trying to see everything at once. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, which he wiped periodically with his shirtsleeve. I couldn't really tell if he was in awe or just terrified. He watched me as I took in our surroundings, obviously expecting me to say something. I pretended not to notice.

To my right, identical brown shacks solemnly faced each other across a narrow street. They were low to the ground and decrepit and the road they sat on curved away and faded into a dark mist. Straight ahead, the buildings gradually rose in size and in the distance I could see some, almost impossibly tall, reaching up into the thick mass of clouds overhead.

We went left. The streets had no markers, but this one I would have recognized with my eyes closed. Trees grew everywhere, some stunted, some with branches that went through windows and roofs, their roots reaching across the street and tangling together with cobblestones and signs. Everything except the trees was whitewashed. It was my favorite place to be.

Now Dutchy's eyes were filled with wonder as we picked our way over the roots, finding a clear path every once in awhile and peering into shop windows if we got close enough.

"We're almost there," I said, my voice sounding strange and alone. Dutchy nodded. I still couldn't shake that feeling, that "wrong" feeling. I had never been on this stretch without there being movement, noise, and general busyness. But it wasn't possible for a whole world to be deserted, so… what was it?

We were almost upon it before I noticed anything, and for that I would later chastise myself. I climbed over one particularly obtrusive branch and all at once it hit me; Smoke and noise billowed up so fast and so complete that I was overwhelmed and almost fell backwards onto Dutchy and the street below. I recovered quickly and ran to the side of the road, beckoning for Dutchy to follow me. The road took a sharp angle to the right, where I knew it opened into a large square. I stood pressed against the wall at this corner, and, once I could will myself to, inched forward and looked around.

In a word, it was chaos. A crowd of thousands filled the square to overflowing, and more continued to come from various other points of entrance. I tried but failed to locate the source of the smoke.

I should have known it wasn't going to be easy. I grabbed Dutchy and we merged with the mob, despite his protests. It was a riot on the grandest scale, with people and creatures from every corner of my imagination screaming and cheering, bouncing off walls and starting fights whenever they had a mind to. As I tried to blend in I kept a firm grasp on Dutchy's wrist and together we wove through the masses toward the opposite side of the square.

Suddenly the crowd joined together into one cheer. I could feel the excitement in the air. I spun around and followed the gaze of everyone surrounding me.

"_SHIT!"_ I yelled in surprise, my voice lost completely in the crowd. Dutchy didn't even hear me, but his head tilted up like mine and, like me, he froze. In the center of the square was the biggest tree of them all, and hanging from a high branch was a human. "Sofia…" I murmured, but quickly dismissed the thought. The figure, I could tell even from where I stood, was tall, skinny under a dirty and charred smock, and black. I felt a flash of recognition, but then it disappeared, and I was left confused and clueless. Dutchy came to his senses first and tugged at my hand. The crowd dissolved into jeers and started throwing cobblestones and things at the hanging figure so it swayed from its noose. I turned away, feeling physically sick, and once more we headed for the back of the square and the source of the smoke.

The ruins of the small building were smoldering when Dutchy and I reached it. There were several small fires in the back, and a couple flames could be seen in neighboring structures, but for the most part the damage was done and the cold drizzle was slowly beating back the fire, if increasing the smoke and steam. We stood in the midst of the wreckage, which had by this point been abandoned by the rioters, and my heart sank down to my feet.

"Race? Race? Are you still here? Hello?"

I blinked up at Dutchy as if seeing him for the first time.

"Race? What's wrong? Where are we? Why are we here?"

I didn't answer for a minute, just kicked around the ashes until I found what had originally caught my eye, even from ten yards out. It was still hot to the touch when I picked it up, but the heat felt good in my hands; it felt real. It was the charred wooden remnants of the corner of a sign, one that had formerly been painted with gold leaf and for me had hung like a beacon in this gloomy world.

"Sofia's," I murmured. Dutchy heard me but didn't seem the make the connection. "This was our destination, Dutch." I continued. "This was it. Now there's nothing."

He stared dumbly down at the ashes covering his feet. "What?"

I dropped the sign. Nothing looked salvageable. "Come on," I said, "let's get out of here… I don't know how safe it is, even now." The mob was beginning to disperse and looters had already picked through whatever remained in the ruins.

"What do we do now?" Dutchy asked, his voice rising as he began to realize the true consequences of what we had just discovered. "Race! Stop!"

I turned, still edgy. "Let's _go_," I hissed. He opened his mouth to say something, then let out an exasperated breath and hurried after me. I led the way north, dodging in and out of the throngs of people with Dutchy close in tow. Part of me was relieved to be in a more normal setting, with people and voices all around me, despite our current situation. Normalcy in a quite un-normal place, I thought grimly. We cleared most of the crowds and continued walking on the side of the street.

"I don't know what happened," I admitted, feeling a headache coming on. "Maybe it was something she did…" I didn't believe that. "Or maybe they knew we were coming."

"Who is 'they'!?" Dutchy was even more frustrated than I.

"I don't know, ok?!" I quickened my pace. "It could be anyone! I don't know, you don't know, Sofia most likely didn't know, maybe Specs didn't even know. _I don't know_." Thinking of Sofia, probably burned alive, made me feel even worse. "But if someone… if something can send a curse _that_ strong to a place and person _that_ far away from the Dark, they are sure as hell powerful enough to know that we were coming and to even know where we were going."

"I don't believe it," Dutchy said softly, mainly to himself, but still I stopped and spun him to face me.

"Believe it," I said, staring him down. My gaze softened. "We don't have to lose hope. It just means that things won't be as easy as we first thought." In my heart I'd always known it would be a challenge, but still, seeing it play out in front of my eyes unnerved me. And despite what I had told Dutchy, I felt a fair amount of disbelief myself. How _had_ they known? And – of course – who _were_ they? I wondered, not for the first time or the last, exactly what Specs had gotten himself into.

When Dutchy next spoke, his voice was small. "Where do we go from here?"

I quickly took stock of our surroundings. It was around mid afternoon and the rain at least had let up, though the sky was still one solemn shade of gray. There were puddles covering the streets, which were once more alive with activity. The street we were on now was for the most part residential, or so it appeared. I looked down further and once again recognized in a flash where we were. I realized then that my feet had taken me this way with purpose, whether or not my mind had known it at the time. I had half a mind to disobey my subconscious, but…

"There is somewhere we can go," I said, and started off again. Dutchy fell in to pace easily beside me. "There is… someone who may be able to help." _Able_, I thought, _but willing?_ Dutchy breathed a sigh of relief, one he probably hoped I didn't hear. "Don't relax just yet," I said. "This is sort of my last resort that we're using." If we walked fast, we would get there just before dusk. When night falls on the Dark, it is not a pretty sight. "Don't get your hopes up," I added after a few beats.

Dutchy chuckled. "Friend of yours?" he asked dryly.

I cringed. "You could say that."


	6. shelter

**six: **shelter.

Night was falling. We stood in front of a huge black wooden door that was probably at least half a foot thick. There was a tiny slit of a window about an inch above Dutchy's eye level. I practiced breathing in and out. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Dutchy checking out the door, pressing on the knots and whorls in the wood and trying to see through the slit.

He gave up. "What do we do now?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Um, actually we just knock."

Dutchy paused, "Right," then pounded the wood three times with his fist. For a while, nothing happened, and I began to get a little nervous. I turned so my back was to the door and I could keep a watch on the street outside. It wasn't the greatest neighborhood to be out in, especially after dark, and especially with just one pale, naïve teenager as your only companion. I heard the door scrape open and I froze.

"The hell?" said a familiar voice with a practiced blend of annoyance and amusement.

Dutchy tapped me urgently on the arm. "What didn't you tell me?" he exclaimed, then spit in his hand and offered it to the figure at the door. I twisted back around slowly and watched with not a little disbelief as Swifty laughed and spit shook with Dutchy. It wasn't quite the greeting I had been expecting.

"Come on in, Dutch," he said, still ignoring me. Dutchy disappeared inside and I made to follow him, but Swifty stepped over and effectively blocked the entrance. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and gave me the once-over. "You're wet," he said finally.

"Um, yeah," I said, then, needlessly, "It was raining."

"So I hear," Swifty said dryly. His gaze remained searching. After an eternity he simply went inside, so I followed with a slight hesitation. The door shut behind me by itself. I shivered a little. I was in a small, square room, its floor and walls covered with a rough gray stone. To my right was another dark, wooden door; a closet, if I remembered correctly. To my left was a short hallway that opened up into a larger room, which was warm with light and a small fire. Its floor was the same stone, but covered over with a mash-up of rugs and pads. Two doors, one across from the hallway I was in and the other next to the fireplace and opposite the street side of the house, led to other rooms; the one near the fireplace to a small kitchen and the other to a narrow staircase. It was all very familiar and for a moment I was unable to move, standing in that hallway and just looking into the main room. Dutchy stood warming his hands in front of the fire, his back to both Swifty and myself. Swifty was leaning against a beat up looking couch, arms still crossed and a half smile fixed on his face.

"Race, why didn't you just tell me it was Swifty?" Dutchy asked. "Why the mystery? This ain't bad. Jeez, Higgins, you had me scared."

Swifty's eyes flashed briefly to me. I shifted uncomfortably. He shook his head and then stood straight.

"Does anyone want something to drink?" he asked, pleasant once more. "Dutchy? Tea? Coffee?"

"Coffee sounds great," Dutchy said, turning away from the fire with a grateful smile.

"Race?"

"Um, sure, coffee," I said. Swifty disappeared into the other room and I finally snapped out of it and came fully into the room. Dutchy left the fire and flopped onto a big chair with a sigh. I took his place in an attempt to make the chill leave my body.

"Seriously, Race," he said, "I was expecting the worst, but this is great. Of course Swifty will help us, he's one of _us_." As soon as the words left his mouth he frowned. "Well… right? Race, where_ did_ Swifty go, after… um… you know."

I didn't answer.

"Because, I mean, I just thought he went to New Jersey. That's what you told us. Remember that?"

I remembered. I remained silent.

"Huh," Dutchy said. "That's funny. I wonder if he's been here the whole time? I guess that would make sense, I mean, you _did_ know where to find him, after all. So why did you say he went to Trenton, or wherever?"

At this moment Swifty reappeared, balancing three cups, which he distributed without a problem. He set his own on a short, broad table in front of the couch, then produced a flask from his vest and smiled triumphantly.

"Anyone…?"

Dutchy and I both shook our heads. Swifty shrugged and added a generous amount to his mug, which I noticed was tea, not coffee. It figured. I had turned a little to accept the coffee, and now I let the fire warm my back and the cup heat my hands. I took a sip and was taken aback at how good it was. I tried not to show I was impressed, but Swifty wasn't watching anyway. He had frozen with his mug halfway to his mouth and seemed to be searching for something, or listening. I concentrated too, and a second later heard it, a scratch above out heads, barely audible. Dutchy was oblivious.

"You'll have to excuse me for a minute," Swifty said with that pleasant voice. He put his mug down, moved off a few steps, then came back, took a long sip, and finally left for the door to the staircase, slamming it shut behind him. I remained at the fire and looked upwards to the ceiling. There were his footsteps, heavy, then nothing, then a flurry of more scratching, steps, and one particularly loud crash. Now not even Dutchy could ignore whatever was happening, and he looked to me inquiringly. I ignored his gaze, my eyes still fixed on the ceiling.

Two pairs of feet came down the stairs this time around, and through the door emerged a woman of medium stature trailed closely by Swifty. He slammed the door again and she gave a little start, then froze, noticing that they had company.

"Oh, I…"

"Let's go," Swifty said firmly, pushing her a little from behind. They reached the black door and I heard an urgent conversation but couldn't pick out any words. The door closed quietly and Swifty reappeared, once again all smiles, at least for Dutchy. I rolled my eyes at my coffee. Dutchy smiled uneasily.

"Sorry about that," said Swifty. "I, ah, well, you guys caught me off guard." Another smile, this one directed at me and not a little accusative. I shrugged as if I was innocent of the whole thing. Swifty returned to his couch and sat with his feet up on the table and the mug of tea held tight to his chest. Dutchy yawned and drained the last of his coffee, his eyelids beginning to droop. I still felt pretty awake, but I had a feeling that the events of the day would begin to catch up with me before long. Swifty watched us both with that half smile still on his face and then stood.

"Come on, Dutch," he said. "I'll show you where you can sleep tonight." Dutchy looked to me, I shrugged again.

"I'll join you later," I said, and turned back to the fire.

"Night, Race," Dutchy said, then followed Swifty up the stairs.

I stared hard at the flames and closed my eyes so the light left wildly colored impressions on my eyelids. Despite my confidence around Dutchy, at this point I was at a loss for what to do. I had depended on Sofia being willing to help, hell, even just being around to talk to. Now she was gone and I had placed myself at the mercy of an estranged friend. I honestly didn't know if Swifty would agree to help us, and even if he did, I kind of doubted that he would have any idea about what to do. We seemed to be stuck, and I chastised myself for not thinking of a plan B before hurtling headfirst into such a mission.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't even notice that Swifty was back until he cleared his throat. I jumped, embarrassed, and spun around. He was in the same position as before, slouched back, legs on the table, mug on his chest so he could breathe in the warm steam. His eyes were closed like he was napping. It was as if he had never left. I was unsettled, and finally took a seat. He cracked open an eye and smiled wryly.

"So."

"Um. So." I busied myself with my coffee, savoring the last few sips.

"So. What the _fuck_ are you doing here?" The smile had disappeared from his face completely, there was no hint of it at his mouth or his eyes. For the first time since we had arrived I looked at him, really looked at him. He was the same as I remembered, and yet infinitely different. His eyes were the darkest brown and able to convey every feeling with just a glance, or to hide any emotion behind a stony wall. I could see traces of laugh lines at their corners, but more evident were the sad creases set near his mouth and forehead. Swifty and I had been born only three months apart, but when I looked at him then, I saw that he had aged years since I had last seen him. His mouth consisted of thin, pale lips in a hard line, his hair was a little on the long side and purposefully disheveled. He looked tired, but not vulnerable – weary.

I wondered how much of my pride I could swallow without choking.

"I – we – need your help," I said plainly.

"I should have known you wouldn't pop in just for a visit," he said, although he had obviously known all along.

"Did you know we were coming?" I asked, suddenly curious, and remembering my speech to Dutchy, remembering that somehow, someone had. There was no way the fire and the riot were simple coincidences.

"Not until the fire," he said.

"You were there?"

He shook his head and motioned to the wall opposite the fireplace and facing the street. There were two small windows. I went to one and peered out; even through the dark night I could see a column of smoke still rising in the distance.

"But how did you know it was S-"

He shrugged, dismissing it, and I felt stupid for even asking. I returned to my seat.

"You're lucky I opened my door, after seeing that," he told me. I knew he was right. Anyone who knew enough to know we were headed for Sofia's would probably have Swifty's name on a list as well. I suddenly realized that even by letting us enter, we already owed him, big time. Idly, I wondered if that meant he had decided to help. It was hard to tell because it was possible he was just playing games. Most likely he had decided, but would torture us by withholding the answer until the last possible second. Swifty sometimes liked a dramatic flair like that. I, on the other hand, was straightforward and played it safe. We weren't a likely pair.

His tone was mocking as he seemed to read my thoughts, and assured me, "I wouldn't worry, this place is pretty steady." I figured I would trust him; I had to, and besides, it was his house. If he had been worried, he would have stayed upstairs, and Dutchy and I would still be stranded on his front stoop. We sat in silence for a few moments, Swifty studied me and I pretended not to notice that he was doing it. I guess I felt that it wasn't my place to speak.

"Just because I let you in doesn't mean I'm going to help you," he said finally, echoing my thoughts once again. "Just because I like to flirt with danger doesn't mean I'm willing to become a martyr, here." I met his eyes now, and waited for him to continue. His eyes narrowed. "You just up and left, Race, you know that? I don't know what you've been telling yourself, and I sure as hell don't know what you've been telling _them_," he jerked his head toward the stairway, "but you're the one who left. And now you come crawling back with another armful of problems, and what, you expect me to just jump right in again, ready for another adventure? Come on, tell me. What did you expect?"

For a long time I said nothing. Swifty was right; I had left, he had stayed, and as a result, I was living some semblance of a normal life and he was here, looking and acting ten years older and watching his back even as he slept. He was damaged goods. In his eyes, I had no right to ask him for anything more than a wave from across the street – and even that was a little uncertain.

"I don't know what I expected, I said, holding my gaze steady. "But I had nowhere else to go. You were my last – only, really – option. And that's it. I can't predict you." I paused for a second, then added, "Never could."

Swifty closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the couch. He never answered, but I knew better than to think he had fallen asleep. I wasn't ready to end the conversation like that, so after awhile, I said, casually, "How have you been, anyway?"

He laughed hollowly. "Grand," he said, and smirked, eyes still closed. "Grand."

I stared into my now-empty cup and debated with myself about how far I should, or could, push him. I remembered the woman from upstairs who had left earlier, and his indifference. It led me to think of other things, things I had tried too hard to forget, and…

"Do you miss her?" I asked.

He flinched as if wounded, and, so quietly that I could barely make out any actual words, said, "Every day."

I waited long enough to let the words fade away, then stood, slowly placed my cup on the table, and went upstairs. I knew when enough was enough, and I knew what would happen now. Swifty would remain on his couch, and any sleep he got that night would not be restful. I felt a little guilty for opening such a wound, but now I knew he would help. I knew because he had answered me at all, even while his sadness kept him pinned in one place. If he had not been leaning in our favor, my question probably would have earned me a black eye and a shove in the opposite direction. Still, strangely, I was not as relieved as I thought I would be. I felt some of that same sadness heavy in my heart, and long after I had climbed into bed I continued to toss and turn.

I was on the verge of finally drifting off when I heard a rustle of sheets followed by Dutchy's nervous voice.

"Race?"

"What."

A long pause. "Can we trust him?"

I closed my eyes, pulled my blanket up, started to drift off again. "Yeah," I said with the last of my energy. "Yeah, we can."


	7. promises I

**note: **From hereon out, the chapters will be getting longer. If this chapter seems to cut off abruptly - well, that's because it does. There is basically a second 'half' to this chapter planned, but I know it's tough to get through six or seven thousand words in one go, so I'll wait. Special thanks to everyone I've been chatting with lately (you know who you are) for being so inspirational, whether you know it or not. **-Keza.  
**

* * *

**seven: **promises.

I woke early and dragged my still-exhausted body out of bed and downstairs. Dutchy was just beginning to stir. I closed the stair door behind me and gathered myself together. Swifty was standing at one of the windows in the main room, mug once again in hand and looking outside with an almost thoughtful air.

"Morning," he said without turning.

"Morning," I answered. It sounded more like a statement than a greeting. Yes, it was morning, though there was little to distinguish morning from afternoon in the Dark; the city was usually covered up with thick gray clouds no matter the time of day.

"Ok," he said, facing me and adopting a businesslike manner. "What have you gotten yourself into this time?"

I had to laugh, he sounded so much like a disapproving mother. He allowed himself a flash of a smile, too, and so in turn I allowed myself to relax.

"You'd be surprised," I said, crossing my arms. "It wasn't me. I got tricked into the whole thing." My tone turned a little more serious as I tried to figure out how to explain things. "It's Specs," I said simply, and chanced a look up at Swifty. He was looking out the window again.

"I figured," he said quietly, troubled. "He…" Swifty hesitated and pretended to study something outside. "Never mind. How bad is it?"

"Bad." It was my turn to pause. "Fever."

He just nodded. "And so you were going to Sofia's. That does make sense."

"Yeah, and I guess it was obvious," I said, not a little bitterly. He just shrugged, dismissing it.

"Looks like whoever did this means business," he said. "Do you have any idea what you're involved in?" He asked this as an actual question; he didn't seem to know anymore than I.

"I was volunteered," I explained. "Those two words? Bad? Fever? It's the extent of my knowledge. I have no idea what the hell's going on."

He just laughed and returned his gaze to the window. We stood like this, in a silence that was approaching companionable, and despite everything, I began to feel just a little better about the whole ordeal. Dutchy appeared behind me with a yawn, and Swifty was all business once more.

"An early start is the best way to go," he said, nodding at me. "I thought for a long time last night, and I came up with a few ideas." He walked to the table in front of the couch and picked something up, it was a corner ripped from a newspaper. Words were scrawled over the print in a heavy black hand. "This is probably your best bet," he said, and handed the paper to me. "Madame Proulx. It's an alright walk from here, depending on which way you go." Again he nodded at me. "She'll talk to you."

"Does she have the Cure?" Dutchy asked eagerly.

Swifty just shrugged. "She'll talk to you," he repeated, looking at me as he did it.

"Thanks," I said, and Dutchy echoed me.

"Don't think of it," said Swifty. "And, hey, if you can wait here a few more minutes, I'll find you something to eat." He disappeared into the kitchen and Dutch and I sat at opposite ends of the couch. I noticed with surprise that there were already two mugs of coffee on the table, and chuckled. Dutchy didn't think it strange and immediately downed half of his, then stopped to regard me from his position a few feet away.

"He seems different this morning," he said. I shrugged and tasted my coffee. Delicious. Of course. "Why did he decide to help us, anyway?"

I thought about several possible answers, but in the end just shrugged again. "I don't know why he does what he does," I said, only somewhat honestly. "Just be thankful that he's on our side."

Dutchy considered this. "Race," he said haltingly, "you never… well, you never answered my questions last night… like… where has he been, and all that?"

I heard a noise from inside the kitchen and so just muttered, "I'll explain later," and in the next moment Swifty came out balancing a couple of bowls filled with something akin to oatmeal. We accepted them with more thanks.

"Are you coming with us?" Dutchy asked through a mouthful of the stuff. "Ow, this is hot… good, though."

Swifty, who was leaning against the wall over the fireplace, smiled a little, but shook his head.

"No, not today," he said. "I have a few things to take care of. You'll be fine; she's a good lady." I smirked inwardly. 'Good' in the Dark could mean any number of things.

"Oh, ok," said Dutchy. "Um, so, when _will_ we see you again?"

"I'll be around," answered Swifty, looking at me once more. I felt uncomfortable and finished my breakfast without meeting his gaze.

Dutchy got up, bowl still in hand, and wandered over to one of the small windows.

"Lots more people out today," he commented. "Too bad it's cloudy again." This time both Swifty and I laughed. Swifty joined him at the window.

"Sun don't shine here, kid," he said with a grin, and clapped him on the back. He laughed again, then returned to the kitchen. I glanced at the address on the newspaper, then folded it carefully and stuck it in my waistband.

"I think that's our cue to leave," I said, setting my bowl on the table.

"Ok," said Dutchy, and I watched as his puzzlement visibly turned into determination. This transformation never ceased to amaze me. "But shouldn't we at least…"

I shook my head. "It's ok. Come on, we want all the daylight hours we can get."

Dutchy followed me outside with a smirk of his own. "Ain't no daylight here, boy," he said.

We continued down the street in the same direction we had been headed the night before. Today we stuck to the side of the road; away from the unpredictable traffic in the middle, but, at the same time, not so close to the edge that we risked being unwittingly pulled into an alley. It was a relief that we weren't alone on the streets, but only just. As we walked, I began to give Dutchy a quick lesson on traveling in the Dark.

"Anything you have, you hide," I told him. "If you can't hide it, then you pretend it's nothing. You could be walking down the street with a gold brick hefted on your shoulder, fine. But if you're a good enough actor, you can get away with anything. People are interested with what _you're_ interested in.

"Everyone's a pickpocket; of course some are better than others. If you bump into someone – or, really, if someone bumps into _you_ – check your person immediately. If you wait even a beat, they'll probably already be gone, so get a good look, too. If you think you can take them, well, ok. But think carefully."

"It's just like our New York," Dutchy reminded me.

"Yeah, ok, but with no police, no allies, and no strangers with hearts of gold," I retorted. "Of course there are similarities, Dutch, but don't waste your time making comparisons. We're in a whole 'nother world now, and not only that, but we're completely, and I mean _completely_, alone."

Dutchy nodded, resigned at least for the moment, so I continued. "Everything here is sizing you up, so get used to that feeling that you're being watched."

"Thing?" he interrupted. "Why do you keep saying that? Every_thing_, some_thing_…" he motioned around us. "Looks pretty normal to me, looks like people."

"Yeah, well, it's also daylight," I said. "Will you just let me talk?" I was starting to get annoyed. "I don't plan on traveling at night, so it's nothing we'll worry about right now, ok? Just… remember that appearances are deceiving."

Here we reached an intersection and I stuck an arm in front of Dutchy's chest to stop him while a black carriage pulled by two enormous gray horses roared past. I watched it go for a second, then we crossed and I resumed my speech.

"It'll work out better for us both if you don't speak unless spoken to, and even then, think carefully about what you do decide to say. A lot of people are just looking to an excuse for a fight. In general? Be careful. You don't want anyone to think you're challenging them, but at the same time, acting too meek will lead people to believe that you're easy prey. Basically, you gotta just… I dunno, blend in. Don't stand out. If you're outside, make sure you have someplace to go. People don't wander around out here unless they're wasted drunk or dying, and no one just hangs outside." I stopped to take a breath and considered what else to mention. How much was too much? He was still clearly processing everything I'd just said, and it was certainly a lot to think about.

_So, what else?_ I thought. Should I bother mentioning that the nights were longer than the days, that any sense of real time was skewed? Or that a woman wearing a black sash spelled trouble, or that unpaved roads were to be avoided at all costs? I was torn. If I told him too much, he would stop listening at some point and barely anything would stick… besides, there was only so much I could warn or teach – he would have to experience some for himself in order to truly understand.

I broke myself away from my thoughts and noticed Dutchy looking at me expectantly.

"Is this fun for you?" I asked, bitter with indecision.

"I need to know everything I can learn so I can help Specs," he said, a little hurt. I sighed and launched back in.

"Ok. There isn't really money here. You… you trade things. See, everybody needs something. Remember that. Everyone is missing something, they are searching, wanting." He nodded along with me.

"Then I guess I'm not so different after all."

I estimated it was about noon when we reached the street of our destination. Water street was the very definition of claustrophobia. The road itself was narrow, too narrow for all but the most daring driver. Dutchy walked behind me; if we were to walk abreast, we would be blocking the path for everyone. The buildings on either side of the road were huge in both width and height, even looking up at their height was dizzying. The sky above was a thin strip of gray between their tops. Sometimes the buildings even intruded upon the street, making it narrower, and then wider. It was at one of these wide sections that I pulled Dutchy aside and, with our backs to a stable looking wall, I pulled the newsprint out of my waistband to check the exact address.

"Shit," I said, and Dutchy looked over my shoulder with concern. The print had been completely rubbed out as we had walked, and now the ink was smudged all over my hands as well. I dropped it to the ground. Wisely, Dutchy didn't say anything.

"We're in a tight place," I said needlessly. I had a feeling that our destination wouldn't simply have a large sign announcing its presence, and even if it did, I had no idea how long Water street was – it could stretch on for a miles, and we didn't have time to walk its entire length and find a place to stay before night fell. I was just wondering how many more things could go wrong when I saw an unusual flash of movement from the corner of my eye. I watched it with my peripheral vision, giving no indication that I had noticed anything strange. It was still, then moved in front of us.

Dutchy was crouching on the ground and had picked up the newspaper and was trying to get something from it. Now I looked directly at the figure in front of us. It was a boy, very small and skinny, with dirt covering every inch of him. I decided he couldn't be more than four or five years old. He had bare feet that were covered in scabs and insect bites, long pants held up by suspenders, no shirt, and a brown bowler hat that was way too big for him and that he wore at a tilt. It was so big that it covered one eye and half of his nose. The other eye was a deep brown and it looked straight up at me. We regarded each other silently, then the boy raised his hand and beckoned, turned, and started walking slowly down the road.

"Come on," I said to Dutchy, not taking my eyes off the boy, as though if I did he would disappear. "Come on, let's go."

Dutchy looked up from the newspaper and frowned. "Where to? Did you remember?"

"What? No… come on," and I started walking, my strides catching up to the boy fairly quickly. Dutchy wasn't far behind.

"Where are we going?"

"We…" Well, I wasn't too sure. But I had a feeling, and sometimes that was enough. "Just… don't worry about it," I said, and so we walked, three in a single file line, and said nothing.

Presently the boy stopped at a door on the right side of the street. It was brown, with no handle of knob on the outside; nothing but a large, rusty knocker. The knocker was below one equally rusty number (a five) that hung upside down. To its left were patches of lighter brown, I assumed that at one point they had held numbers as well.

"I guess the address wouldn't have helped after all," I muttered to Dutchy. The boy raised his hand up, but it didn't reach even halfway to the knocker. He looked at me expectantly, and I grabbed him under his arms and lifted him up to it. The knocker creaked a little as he pried it up, then hit it four times, twisted around in my grasp, and smiled at me. I put him down and the door swung open.

"How do we know this is even it?" Dutchy asked as I followed the boy inside. I just looked over my shoulder, where he stood, confused as hell, and beckoned with a grin. Dutch grumbled something, but entered, and the door closed behind him. It was completely dark. There was a hiss, and a small flame danced into being. It was brought to a lamp, and the following glow illuminated both the face of its holder and the surrounding room.

It was a woman, older than old, with thin gray hairs gathered into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, piercing, pale green eyes, and wrinkles that folded in and among themselves a thousand times. She had thin, pale lips, and these smiled at me to reveal a mouth missing all but a few teeth. Dutchy coughed nervously behind me. I was entranced.

"Good afternoon, boys," she said in a voice that creaked and wheezed. It spoke of her age, but still seemed stronger than her body – her voice matched her eyes. "What took you so long?" And with that she brushed by us and down a hallway at the other end of the small room. I shrugged at Dutchy and turned to follow before the light disappeared completely, noticing as I left that the boy had disappeared. The only other object in the room was a tall stand with just one brown bowler hat hanging atop it…

The hallway was equally dark, and again I felt the claustrophobia from outside closing in. The woman stopped abruptly and the lantern illuminated a door, this one with a handle, which she turned and turned out her lantern at the same time. The light that came after she opened the door was so bright that I had to back a few steps, my arm in front of my eyes, and I bumped into Dutchy, who just grunted. Now that I was close to him again, he took hold of the chance and hissed, "Where the hell are we?" in my ear.

"Like I know," I muttered, and dragged him inside behind me.

I scanned the room quickly as we entered; it was small, square, and bare of any furnishings save a round wooden table and four chairs surrounding it. The brightness came from three lights on the ceiling, which was curious. Each wall had a door, making me feel strangely like we were being watched.

The woman turned and smiled widely at us, motioning that we sit down. I obliged, and Dutch just followed my lead.

"Tea? Coffee?" she asked, and again her steady voice surprised me. I hesitated, and the smile appeared again. She went to one of the doors and knocked twice, then made her way back to the table. Without thinking I jumped back up and pulled a chair out for her. She tittered and patted my arm as she slowly sat. Idly, I wondered how old she was, and returned to my own seat without taking my eyes off her. She didn't seem to notice, however, as her own gaze had fastened on Dutchy. He watched nervously back, eyes flitting to me every once in awhile. But I couldn't help him.

"Danya," she said softly, and he leaned closer in spite of himself. "Child, you are lost. Why have you come?"

Just as he opened his mouth, two knocks sounded at the door the woman had been at earlier.

"Come on," she said clearly, eyes never leaving Dutchy.

A short, colored boy poked his head in, then took a few tentative steps forward, holding the door open with his fingertips.

"Peter, please fetch us something to drink," she said, and twisted to shine her smile at the boy. He nodded and disappeared. When she turned back to us, her manner had changed completely.

"I see Joseph sent you, but have I seen the boy in months? No, of course not." The smile returned. "How is he?"

I shrugged. I didn't know how much to say, maybe he was close with the lady, but I'd never seen her in my life. "He's fine."

"Mmm." She eyed me critically but didn't press, instead she focused her attention back on Dutchy. "My name is Madame Proulx," she said. "I run an orphanage of sorts here. Now, I know you, Danya… and you, Anthony," she nodded in my direction. "But tell me; why are you here?"

"Swifty said-" One gesture with her hand silenced me. I stopped, confused, and again Dutchy looked to me for help.

"Danya," she said gently. "This is not his story." Instead of relief, I felt a little bit of resentment at her comment. After all, what had Dutchy done in the few days we had been out? Nothing. He was just there because I wouldn't be able to get the Cure without him. I could do it easier by myself. I stayed quiet.

"Uhh," said Dutchy. I glared at the door, and almost as if I had willed it, there was a soft knock, then a click. The same boy was back and carrying a tray of cups and saucers with utmost care. He slid the tray on the table next to me and hurried out. Grateful for the distraction, Dutchy grabbed a cup and stared into it as if it had the answers. I smirked inwardly but said nothing. Madame Proulx waited patiently.

"Specs… well, he's my Love, see, an' he's sick. An' I had no idea what was going on except that something was wrong, and then they all told me it was a Fever…" his words came faster and faster as he spoke and began to drew confidence from her concerned air. "So Race, he said that we gotta find the Cure, and that we gotta come here to do it. But the place we went to first, something happened, and it was burned down, so we went to Swifty – Joseph – instead, and he sent us here… except…" Now he frowned, puzzled. "Well except we got lost, and then this boy led us here, an'… well, never mind." He shrugged. "That's the story. It doesn't sound so grand now that I say it." He took a sip of his tea and his hand rattled the saucer. Some liquid sloshed over the rim of the cup and in a moment I forgot any traces of resentment I'd felt. I felt a wave of pity that tightened around my heart. Madame Proulx was right, no matter his actual age, Dutchy was just a child, and so, so lost. And me? I was just the helper. It was I who had no reason to be there, none except to teach him the ropes so he could save the person he loved, truly loved.

I burned my tongue on the tea and wondered miserably if anything I'd ever done approached the scale of his current trials. No, nothing, I was always the sidekick, always –

"I wish I could say I could help you, Danya," Madame Proulx spoke, dragging me back from my thoughts. "I don't know if I can." She stopped and closed her eyes to think. I was honestly afraid she might fall asleep. "Ah," she said finally, "I know." She opened her eyes. "Yes, I can help. But I will need something from you."

I was mildly worried, and remembered my earlier warning to Dutchy. _Everyone wants something_, I thought. _Nothing is free._

"Anything," said Dutchy.

I sighed.


	8. promises II

**note: **I just wanted to take a moment and thank everyone who has been reviewing so far. It's true; you guys are the _best._ Also, and you won't understand this part until later, but, Stress - I swear I'm not creepily obsessed with you... I just thought it was funny. Right. Onward!**  
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**eight: **promises II.

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"_I wish I could say I could help you, Danya," Madame Proulx spoke, dragging me back from my thoughts. "I don't know if I can." She stopped and closed her eyes to think. I was honestly afraid she might fall asleep. "Ah," she said finally, "I know." She opened her eyes. "Yes, I can help. But I will need something from you."_

_I was mildly worried, and remembered my earlier warning to Dutchy. _Everyone wants something,_ I thought. _Nothing is free.

_"Anything," said Dutchy. _

_I sighed._

* * *

The old woman chuckled at Dutchy's answer and my subsequent reaction. "Now, now," she said, "it's nothing big. In fact, I would call it more of a small favor than any sort of payment." She smiled warmly, and sincerely, and I was convinced.

"What do you need?" asked Dutchy.

"Well, I'm afraid it's not a simple answer," she said. "It requires a bit of an explanation. I hope you two are comfortable.

"You see, I need you to take one of my charges along with you. He won't get in the way, this I can promise, and he also won't be with you for long. His age and ability place him beyond my care, and I need you to help him safely reach his next destination. I suppose you could call it a delivery of sorts. Actually, I would do it myself, but I am not comfortable leaving this building. I have much to look after… much that ties me here."

"And in return?" I asked quickly, before Dutchy could blindly agree.

"In return, I will set the two of you loose in my library. Buried somewhere – I can only guess as to exactly where – is a list of ingredients for this Cure you seek." She paused. "My boy could even help you find one or two of the items on your way, you know."

It wasn't a bad deal, providing we could find the list in a reasonable amount of time. I looked to Dutchy; he just shrugged, fine with it. Me, I needed more convincing. Maybe Swifty knew this broad, but I'd never even heard of her, and it's not like I had one hundred percent trust in Swifty, either.

"What exactly do you do here?" I asked cautiously. There was no way she ran an orphanage for lost children out of the kindness of her heart – besides, any kid in the Dark was definitely lost, usually lost beyond salvation. She smiled.

"Do you want to know the what or the why?" she asked, and I wondered if I always broadcast my thoughts so plainly. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything less," she murmured. "Alright. The truth is, I stumbled into this business quite ignorantly many years ago. A boy from the street found his way into my home and begged me to let him stay, offering to clean and cook and such in return for the shelter. For whatever reason, I agreed, and we lived like this, quite independent of each other, for several months. All of this changed one day when I was eating lunch. I saw him from the corner of my eye, but when I turned to tell him something, he was gone. I trust my eyes, if nothing else, and I knew what I had seen. But I didn't do anything just then, I didn't want to scare him, so I just finished my lunch and forced myself to be patient.

"That night, I cornered him in the kitchen and demanded to know just what he was doing. I was both curious and jealous as he admitted that he could disappear at will. I didn't know why, or how, but he could do it, and he showed me – he could, for short periods of time, become invisible. I was shocked. There are strange things and stranger people here, to be sure, but I had never heard of such a talent. Of course, I'd only been on this side for about a year, and I had much to learn.

"And learn I did. Anthony, of this part of the story I'm sure you are well aware. You see, all girls and boys – no, that is – all children like you, streetrats, orphans, runaways, and the like – have a little Dark in them. That is what attracts them to this side in the first place, likes moths to a flame, though most are not aware of their actions – some don't even know they're in a different city. But they are, and when they are, this Dark, this… element… it becomes something else entirely. Something special." Here her smile became wicked. "Something I can manipulate. Of course," she continued, "when the children reach a certain age, the abilities fade and are eventually forgotten. But until then, they are my eyes and ears, my messengers, my little warriors. Yes, they earn their keep."

She sat back and regarded us with that fixed smile. "You boys, you try to act older than you are, but you're not too old yet. Right, Anthony?"

"Guess not," I said. She was right – this part of the story I knew well. Kids. They were everywhere in the Dark, Madame Proulx wasn't the only person smart enough to take advantage of them. Warlords loved us because of our naivety and expendability. We made valuable runners, smugglers, and even assassins. In a way, we used them – the adults – just as they used us. But for people like me, and like the rest of my friends, our time was running out. We were only useful for so long. I thought of Skittery and Blink, who had both notoriety and a steady income from the Dark, and were only all too aware of that fact.

"How 'come you didn't tell me, Race?" Dutchy asked, both curious and a little hurt. I shrugged.

"Not much to tell," I said. I looked at Madame Proulx and explained, "I have a good sense of direction – really good. I know where to go. I don't get lost – nothing more." I certainly wasn't as impressive as disappearing boy.

"You would be a good mentor," she mused.

"Can we meet the boy before we make our decision?" I asked, ignoring her observation.

"Of course, of course," she chuckled, but Dutchy still looked troubled. "I'll just be a moment." She left by way of the door behind me.

"Am I too old, Race?" Dutchy asked with a frown. "Am I too old to… to have anything?"

"Nah," I said, though I honestly had no idea. "You've only been over here for like a day. Who's to say you can't just up and disappear, too? We'll find out, probably when you least expect it. See, it's…" I struggled to find a way to explain the phenomenon. I thought I had been the exception to the rule, too, until everyone started commenting on my knack for getting around. I was surprised to learn that it wasn't normal, that not everyone could get where they wanted to go no matter what.

"It's so much a part of you," I said finally, "that you don't necessarily notice it as anything special until something happens that's to big to ignore." I shrugged again, so helplessly that we both laughed a little, and I think he took some confidence from my words. It's possible that I did too; my insides felt warm from the coffee, and for the first time, I began to believe that we would be okay, Dutch and I.

Now Madame Proulx returned and in tow she had a scrawny black boy, probably just eleven or twelve years old. His hair was cut close to his head and he carried a weathered gray cap in his hands. He wore a clean, gray shirt and pressed black pants, finished off with some giant black boots. He looked up at us and just grinned, but stayed close by the Madame's side. Dutchy and I stood to meet them.

"Danya, Anthony, this is Lucas. Lucas, these boys will be helping you on your way." I chose to ignore her certainty.

"Kids call me Boots," the boy said, and winked at me. He seemed alright, normal enough, at least at this point. Truth was, I had no idea what we would do if we didn't take her up on her offer, anyway.

I knew Dutchy was already sold on the idea, so I didn't bother to confer with him. I just nodded slowly, my eyes still matched with Boots', and said, "Okay, it sounds good." He met my gaze unflinchingly.

"Lucas is very excited," Madame Proulx said kindly. "Lucas, why don't you go pack your things." He scampered off, but Dutch and I remained standing. She caught the hint and moved to the door on the right, where the boy with the coffee had emerged.

"Through here," she said, her hand on the knob. "Henry will be on the other side, he'll show you. I'll send Lucas in to meet with you when he's ready. When you're finished, he will also show you the way out. And he knows where he is headed, he has a name."

"Thank you," Dutchy and I said at the same time. I bowed my head and she opened the door and just watched us leave, saying nothing more.

Henry was a lanky boy, about fifteen, with white blond hair and an air of superiority about him. He didn't ask who we were or why we were there, I don't think he cared at all, he just beckoned for us to follow and made his way rather quickly through a maze of corridors. We climbed two sets of stairs and made countless turns, and even with my heightened sense of direction, I wasn't sure if I could find my way out. The place must have had hundreds of rooms, and I was a little surprised when we finally came to a stop.

For some reason, I had been expecting something bigger, something grander, like huge double doors and cathedral ceilings or something. The reality couldn't have been more opposite. We were at the dead end of a long, dimly lit hallway – I hadn't seen any windows to speak of the entire way – and in front of us there was a short stair down to a moldy looking door that was just barely visible in the gloom. I winced; I was not looking forward to this. Henry unhooked an unlit lantern from the wall and handed it to Dutchy with a smirk. As he turned to go, I asked, randomly, "Hey. Do you like it here?"

He looked back at us, gave a short bark of a laugh, and disappeared through a side door.

"Well, that's encouraging," I muttered to Dutchy. He dug a match out of his pocket to light the lantern, and the sight of the flame reminded me of how much I wanted a smoke. I grunted and decided to sacrifice a cigar, figuring I could chew on it to distract me while we searched. Besides, it's not like Sofia would be complaining.

Dutchy bravely went down first, shouldered the door open, and entered. I bit the tip off my cigar and hurried after him before the lantern's circle of light was too far from view.

* * *

"_Grimories_?" I asked, blowing the dust from a cover of an enormous, leather bound tome.

"Nah… ha, how 'bout, _Famous Journeys and Their Disastrous Ends_," he mentioned by way of an answer, then dropped the volume to a floor carpeted in scrolls and fragments of yellowed paper.

"Charming," I said, rubbing my eyes with my fists. We'd been in the moldy "library" for almost an hour and I wasn't sure how much more tedious searching I could take. Dutchy took a seat on a stack of books and rested his head against the cold brick wall with a sigh. From the back of the room we could hear a steady dripping sound, which was both irritating and a little unnerving. What if the list we needed was already ruined?

I picked up the lantern we'd set placed between us and held it up to a wide bookcase running the length of the room. I read the titles softly to myself as I went, as if hearing the syllables out loud would trigger something inside me that my eyes could not. Meanwhile, Dutchy leafed idly through the thick pages of _Histories of Wars_.

"_Portaverunt Deas_… _Portals of 1852… A Maldiçao de Diabo…_ Christ, I can't even read half of these…" I paused. Set back from the other books was a slim volume, dark, with nothing written on its bind. Curious, I slid it out and set the lantern on the floor, careful not to spill anything on the brittle (and highly flammable) mass of papers.

The words on the cover had formerly been in red type, but had been rubbed out so only their indentations remained. I brushed my fingers over the depressions and squinted at the title. It read, _Curses and the Cursed_. The edges of the pages were also black, and glinted in the low light like a mockery of gold or silver leaf. I was about to open it when I heard a commotion at the door. A shadow of a figure joined us with a loud snort. I held up the lantern and confirmed my suspicions – it was Boots. He blinked a few times in the light and wrinkled his nose.

"Whew! How long you boys been down here? Any luck yet?"

Dutchy ignored him, but I had to answer his ever present smile.

"Maybe," I said, and put the light down on one of the bookshelves. It was now right at eye level, and I held the black book close to the steady flame. Boots waded through the mess to join me, a disgusted, but still amused, look on his face. I opened the cover and began to search. The book's pages were thin to the point that you could almost see through them, therefore the volume contained much more information than it had originally appeared to hold. Titles of various ailments, most of which I had never even heard of, were written in red at the top of each page, so I began to flip through with my thumb until I spotted what I was looking for. Fever.

"What'd you find?" Dutchy asked from his seat a few yards away.

"Not what we're looking for," I answered, snapped the book closed, and tossed it to him. "But hold onto it, anyway."

Boots had gone to the other end of the bookcase and was making his way toward me.

"What about you, d'ya know what you're looking for, kid?" I asked, scanning the shelf in front of me in an effort to find where I had left off.

"Yup," he said. He went up on his toes, then shook his head and dropped down, working quickly. In the back of my mind, I wondered how he could see well enough to be contributing, but I didn't dwell on it. Damn kids and their young eyes.

This thought was so absurd – after all, I was only five or six years older than Boots – that I laughed out loud, and both my companions stopped to stare.

"Don't worry about me, fellas," I said, grinning in the dark, "I'm just – oh, hello." I'd found my place and almost laughed again, this time with disbelief. The book I pulled out was small and compact, as if to be carried in a bag or pocket. Its cover was red leather, smooth and impossibly clean. The lettering on the front was in gold and simply read, _Remedies_. I knew this book. And I knew it would have what we needed. Dutchy and Boots appeared on either side of me and both looked over my shoulder as I opened to a table of contents.

I ran my finger down the list until I saw that simple five-letter word, then flipped to the corresponding page. I was a little surprised to see that it didn't look so complicated at all; only three pages were dedicated to Fever: some sort of preface, an encouragingly short list of materials, and what I assumed to be instructions for putting everything together.

This time it was Dutchy who laughed, joyfully, and clapped me on the back.

"All right!" Boots said with a grin. "Now, let's go!"

I had to agree. I suddenly couldn't stand to be in that dungeon of a room a second longer, so I ripped out the last two pages and gave them to Dutchy.

"Here," I said, "put these in that other book I gave you."

"Shouldn't we just take the whole thing?" he asked, bewildered.

"No, the black one is thinner. It'll be easier to hide. For some reason, I don't think we want to be caught taking more than we agreed to."

He nodded and obliged, and we followed Boots out and back up the stairs. I was relieved, and let it show on my face. Boots turned out the lantern and replaced it on its hook, then led the way outside via a completely different route than before.

Despite my sudden high, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched, and I was glad when we finally stepped out onto the cobblestones again, even if it was beginning to get dark. Dutchy had remembered at least some of my warnings from before, and looked quickly to me.

"Um, now what?" he asked, and I felt myself coming back down to earth.

"Well… now we find a place to hole up in for the night," I said. "Come on."

We walked off down the street, but Boots remained frozen to a spot just outside the orphanage, looking up at its dizzying height.

"Boots!" I called, walking backwards and watching him. "Boots, hurry up!"

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, met my eyes, flashed another huge grin, and ran to catch up. I laughed and cuffed his head affectionately, and even Dutchy snickered a little.

Yeah, we were gonna be alright.


	9. lesson

**note: **For some reason, this chapter killed me. I hope it's easier to read than it was to write! Thanks again to everyone who is reviewing. This chapter's fanfic allusion is in reference to Falco... unfortunately, no one else will understand it, but Falco, I hope you laugh.**  
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**nine: **lesson.

* * *

It wasn't until we were secure in our room at the inn that I asked Dutchy for the book and papers we had taken. The place was called "The Brick" and was about a dozen blocks east of Madame Proulx's. It was a tall, skinny, and – surprise – brick building, with a slate roof and very few windows. On one neighboring side was a popular opium den, on the other, a doctor. Thus, there was enough traffic around the area that we would be able to slip in and out fairly inconspicuously, and I felt as safe in the building as I would at any other inn, which didn't say much, but the three separate locks on the door certainly helped.

The Brick probably housed ten rooms on its second and third floors. The first floor was the reception office and a small bar of sorts that also served food. I'd stayed here before but was still surprised when the owner, a buxom redhead named Blondie, recognized me. We'd arrived right when it was starting to get real dark, and taken one of her last rooms, so she was happy, and threw in a couple free drinks.

The room itself was pretty cramped, but I didn't plan on spending much time in it. There were two narrow beds separated only by a nightstand whose top was so slanted that anything you set on it immediately slid onto the wooden floor. Above the nightstand was a mirror, covered in dust and cracked down the middle, but functioning nonetheless. Near the door was a closet we didn't even dare open, a hat rack, and a large, framed painting of a snowy meadow. Behind the painting was a safe that probably hadn't been used in years, seeing as the lock was broken.

Finally, in the far corner of the room was a washbasin, and next to it, a window that looked down on the street below. It was the first place I went when we entered the room. I glanced down as Dutchy fiddled with the locks at the door and Boots stood near my shoulder. There was a streetlamp directly in my line of vision, and it was actually lit, casting a pool of light with a considerable diameter. Various figures passed in and out of view through the circle. I watched for a few seconds, then turned away and took a towel that was hung over the edge of the washbasin and used it as a makeshift curtain.

"They can look in about as easily as we can look out," I told Boots, who nodded. There was a light above one of the beds that we had lit upon entering the room, and now we gathered beneath it, Dutchy and Boots sitting on the bed itself and me standing, arms crossed. It was dark, but it wasn't that late, and I think we all had too many questions to even think about turning in for the night.

"Ok," I said to Dutchy, "let's see it."

He took out the slim black book and looked at it for a moment, then flipped through its pages until he found where he had stuck the other sheets. Gingerly, he removed them, then passed them to me and set the book on the bed beside him.

I squinted at the fine print and cleared my throat, feeling a little ridiculous.

"We may need more help than I thought," I admitted after a minute. "Some of these things, I don't even know what it's talking about. And the-"

"Just read the list!" Dutchy interrupted. "We can figure it out later, it's not like we can do anything right now, anyway."

"Yeah, fine. Umm, okay, first up, five different kinds of elixirs or somethin, I can't even pronounce the names – that's the kind of stuff that Sofia would've had on hand."

"Who's Sofia?" asked Boots.

"She's the lady we were supposed to get the Cure from," I explained. "But she's, um… gone, now." He considered this, and nodded.

"Right," I continued. "Effect from afflicted, effect from caster… personal effects, I guess." I groaned. "That means we need something from Specs and something from whoever did this!"

"But we don't _know_ who did this!" Dutchy exclaimed.

"I get that," I said, exasperated. "Shit. Okay, moving on… there must be something here we can deal with ourselves. Volunteered blood… that sounds nice… Hangman's Moss… alright… Lucky Feet? The hell? And why is it capitalized? Christ." I handed the paper to Dutchy and went back to the window. "You read the rest," I said, "this is absurd."

"There's just one more," he said, holding it up and ignoring my attitude. "Save… Savory?"

"The hell?" I turned back around and leaned against the wall. "Savory what?"

"Um, savory, savory?"

"It's a kind of plant," Boots said helpfully. "Or a spice. One of them."

I actually laughed. "Fantastic," I said.

"Should we read how to mix it up?" Dutchy asked, still ignoring me.

"Nah," I said. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, don't want to confuse ourselves any more than we have to." I crossed the room and joined them on the bed, which protested our combined weight with a loud array of squeaks. "Listen," I said, "tomorrow we can go to this market, kind of like a farmer's market, it'll have that Hangman's Moss, and maybe the Savory, if it's what Boots says it is. We just have to take things one at a time. We'll do that, then we'll figure out where to go from there."

"Okay," Dutchy said, and replaced the papers in the middle of the black book. He moved to put it on the nightstand, then thought better, and instead slid it under his pillow. I stood and went to the other bed and tossed Boots my pillow to use on the floor. He settled right down, and Dutchy turned the lamp out. I stared at the ceiling, hands behind my head, and tried to revisit my earlier good mood, but it was impossible. Things were almost, but not quite, impossible. Sure, we had the list now, but it was full of exotic ingredients, most of which I'd never heard of, never mind knew where to find. It'd been a long time since I'd been in the Dark, and my rapidly thinning list of contacts wouldn't be good for much.

I stared up at the ceiling and felt a sudden nostalgia for my bunk at the Lodging House, with all its carvings and wear. I turned over on my side to face the window and tried to force all worrisome thoughts out of my head. I let myself drift to sleep to the sound of Boots snoring, and passed the night without any dreams.

* * *

The first thing I did when I woke up the next morning was take the towel from the window so that the room could have a little more light. Boots rolled over with a grumble, but Dutchy was already awake. He was on his back on the bed, reading the black book. He didn't seem to notice either of us, so, as Boots got up and stood scratching his head and yawning, I said, "What's it say?"

"Hmm?" he said, and looked over blankly. "Oh, mornin'. Um. Well… I don't understand all of the words, but…" He paused, then just beckoned me over and pointed to a paragraph. I sat and took the book in my hands. Boots sat on my bed and looked like he was ready to lie down and fall asleep again. I scanned the paragraph.

"There's a time limit," I said. "Well, yeah. That makes sense, he is sick, after all. His health isn't going to hold out forever."

Dutchy looked shocked at my bluntness. "But less than two weeks?" he said. "I mean, it seems like a long time, but we're already on day three, and we haven't gotten _anything_ done!"

"Relax," I said, returning the volume. "That's two weeks normal time. You know how time is here, or you must have noticed. It's different, alright? I mean, I don't know the numbers, but… well, more time passes here than there. Like, who's to say if we went back to the other side now, it wouldn't be the same morning we left?"

"Really?" Dutchy asked, eyes wide. I guess I hadn't mentioned it.

"Yeah," Boots piped up, eager to help. "Before I was at the Madame's I was stuck in Brooklyn. I spent a _month_ there one night!"

"Exactly," I said. "It's weird, but it's just one of those things. So, we have plenty of time. How much, exactly? I don't know, but it's not like I want to hang out here forever. We're working as fast as we can," I added, trying to be reassuring. Dutchy nodded, but I could see he wasn't convinced. Still, he dropped it, and we got ready for the day in silence.

"Boots," I said as Dutchy went to work unlocking the door. "Speaking of time, is there any certain point we have to get you to… to whoever… by?

"Nah, I don't think so. I got the name and stuff, I'll give it to you later, but the Madame said it's okay to do it whenever it's a good time for you."

"Okay, good," I said. The last thing I wanted to do was take a detour to drop the kid off, especially when we still had so much left to get done.

We went downstairs, grabbed some decent looking fruit for breakfast on the way out, waved goodbye to Blondie, and emerged out onto the street. I took a quick glance to my left and right, gathering my bearings. The market I thought would be helpful wasn't far away – in fact, I was pretty proud of my decision to stay at the Brick, because it had a pretty nice, central location. It would be a good place to be able to return to, instead of trekking back to Swifty's house, or wherever.

"Follow me," I said to my companions, "and don't… just don't get lost."

Dutchy raised an eyebrow but Boots just laughed. "Should I hold onto the back of your shirt?" he asked cheekily. I grinned in response and led the way.

"You have the list, right?" to Dutchy.

"Yeah. Everything. I didn't want to leave anything in there."  
"Good thinking," I said, and we continued in relative silence, Dutchy brooding, Boots looking all around himself with great interest, and me… I took in all the sights, feeling little twinges of recognition here and there – recognition, sure, and memories, absolutely, but nothing like the nostalgia I'd experienced the night before, just thinking about that old, decrepit bunk bed.

* * *

The Blithe Mile market was crowded any day of the week, and today was no exception. The market would have started well before sunrise, but that didn't mean we were late. It's not an easy place to describe. Dutchy and Boots, who had never experienced anything near like it, were enthralled, trying to look in every direction at once. I had to remind them more than once not to stare, and to watch where they were going. For a fleeting second I wished I was carrying the book and ingredient list instead of Dutchy, but I was already holding heavy with all the "currency" I had brought with me.

Blithe Mile was always closed to any sort of vehicle. It was paved in dirt, with patches of gravel here and there. Contrary to its name, it didn't actually stretch for a mile – but I couldn't tell you how many blocks, either. Plenty – more than enough to be wandering throughout the maze of stalls and booths for an entire day or more. There was no rhyme or reason to the setup of the place; the length of dirt was roughly rectangular, and there was no one straight path through the mess. You had to weave your way through people and vendors to get anywhere, and I suspected that half the crowd were pickpockets.

It was a pretty strange place – when it was broken down at night, it became just a flat wasteland, where I'm sure lots of people got into trouble. It's possible that in earlier days, it had been some sort of park, but by this point, any sort of grass or shrubbery had long since been pounded down and choked of any life.

We stood at the edge of the whole thing and I ran a hand through my hair, already a little claustrophobic. I wished I could just do this alone and get it over with, but Dutchy and Boots never would have agreed to staying behind at the inn. I glanced at the two, feeling more like their mother than ever, then had an idea.

"Ok," I said, and walked a few steps back to a nearby streetlamp. There was a piece of paper stuck on it with the words "DEN LILLE," whatever that meant. "See this? Will you remember this?" They both nodded dutifully. "Good. We're going to meet back here in an hour. I don't care if you're in the middle of something, be here in one hour. Alright?"

Boots grinned and nodded, excited as always, but Dutchy looked a little apprehensive.

"Shouldn't we stick together?" he asked.

"It would be impossible, in that mess," I said, jerking my chin toward the swarm of bodies just a few yards away. "Besides, I do my best haggling alone."

"Come on, you don't have to go by yourself," said Boots, taking Dutchy's elbow and starting into the frenzy. I took another look at the lamppost, then followed them, putting my guard up immediately.

I worked my way over to the east side of the 'Mile, where most of the vendors selling herbs and plants tended to congregate. It was bittersweet, being here. It had been a long time since I'd fought my way through the throngs of people, but I still remembered clearly coming here often with Swifty, whether just to grab something for lunch or to search out the best smuggled cigarettes. I smiled a little at the memory. Things were different, then, real different. For one thing, Swifty was more like Boots; always with a permanent grin on his face, always with a wisecrack ready. For another, we'd been a real team, looking out for each other but also capable of taking care of ourselves. It hadn't been easy, but we never worried. We were invincible.

I tried to keep myself in the present; I could deal with Swifty later, if at all. I looked around myself, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. All the vendors who could afford it kept bodyguards near their stalls. You could tell because they all looked the same; big, arms crossed, and dark, accusing eyes. They were clearly just looking for excuses to "punish" someone, whether or not he had actually done anything wrong.

In the same vein as the bodyguards were the spies. Spies could be anyone, kids, pretty ladies, even a bodyguard. But you could tell they were there for a reason because they were pretending not to be interested, pretending not to search, and it was obvious. The spies were there on behalf of the various warlords that ruled the Dark. The warlords' greatest source of power came from trading. They controlled almost all of the entrances and exits to and from the Dark, and so therefore controlled everything that came in and out. A lot of stuff is hard to come by in the Dark, things that are commonplace on the other side, like good tobacco and clean water, so a lot of people made a lot of money by smuggling that stuff in and selling it.

Many of these people tried to sell their illegal stuff at this very market, which wasn't too smart, considering it was a well-known place and absolutely infested with spies who, if they found out you were taking commerce away from their respective leaders, would immediately rat you out. It was risky business, something I had never even considered getting myself into, no matter how lucrative. I left that to my friends, to people like Snoddy and Kid Blink, who didn't seem to have the capacity for fear – or common sense.

Hangman's Moss. To be honest, I wasn't sure exactly where to go. I didn't know what it looked like, but I had heard of it – and only in the Dark – so I knew it had to be around somewhere. The plant section of the market announced its presence with a gateway of sorts, a trellised arch covered in jade green vines. I walked around it, rather than through, and watched as its owner cut off a section to give to a customer. The vine grew back immediately.

About a dozen people crowded in front of a long, makeshift table (a thin board supported by cinderblocks) that was completely covered with brown packets of what I assumed to be seeds. The table was manned by two identical women who seamlessly dealt with their customers, products, and each other. Both had dark hair swept back into a single French braid, and clear, green eyes outlined sharply with black paint. Their arms, which were bare, were covered in black ink; delicate lines that traced up like vines from fingertips to shoulder.

One grabbed my wrist as I passed.

"Watch this," she said, and snatched something from the table, then dropped it into a cup of brackish water. Instantly the water churned and something green grew up out of it, its roots grabbing on to the rim of the cup. A blood red flower bloomed, quivered for a moment or two, and then the whole thing sank to the bottom of the water. She swirled the cup twice, then dumped out its contents onto the dirt behind her, and tilted the cup toward me so I could see what was left inside. There were three, small, teardrop shaped orange leaves.

The woman grinned mischievously up at me. "It's poison," she said, after I failed to show any reaction. "You know. For a drink."

"I'm not interested," I said, and moved to leave. She still held fast to my wrist.

"Any liquid can make it," she added, "really, anything. Not just water."

"Well, _really_, I'm all set," I said, a little more forcefully.

"It grinds up real easily. Hell, you could use it as a dye."

Now I jerked my wrist from her grip, hissed, "Thanks," and stalked off. I could feel the heat of her gaze at my back, but soon enough to turned back to tend to real customers. I reprimanded myself for getting distracted and tried to concentrate. Moss. It couldn't be so easy that one person sold a thousand types of mosses, could it?

I figured I may as well ask someone, unless I wanted to end up trapped with the crazy poison ladies and miss the appointment I'd set with the others. I looked around for someone that might actually talk to me and found a likely candidate; a man of about thirty years sitting behind a small table of flowers and smoking a pipe. He seemed pretty content to just watch all the action and commotion around him, and I doubted he even cared if he sold anything. I shouldered my way toward the table. He nodded, recognizing my presence, but just kept puffing away, watching people walk by.

He had a rather scraggly beard and a dirty face, but intelligent brown eyes.

"Listen," I said, "I'm looking for something, do you think you could point me in the right direction?" Now he looked at me, and took the pipe of out of his mouth. I took that as a signal to continue. "Hangman's Moss. Have you heard of it?" He nodded and leaned back in his chair – it was a rocking chair, and so out of place that I almost laughed.

"You see the lady with the red hair?" he asked in a deep, melodic voice. I followed his gaze.

"And the apron?"

"That's her. That's Susie. She'll have what you're looking for."

"Thanks," I said, and made my way toward "Susie," who was standing on a platform and yelling across the crowd at someone. She was behind a sort of booth, with an open, wooden rectangle on top, reminding me of a stall at a stable. But because of her platform, she was above the entire thing and rested her elbows on the very top. I stopped a few feet away from the booth so I could see her, and, without waiting for her to finish her tirade, yelled.

"Hey, are you going to help me or not!?"

"What the hell do you want?!" she cried, switching her focus – and her ill temper – to me without missing a beat.

"Hangman's Moss," I said.

"How much?" she asked, searching me, trying to figure out what kind of customer I would be.

Shit, how much _did_ I need? I hadn't thought to memorize that, and Dutchy had the list. Well, assuming he hadn't lost it yet. She noted my hesitation and smirked.

"You pay by the gram, kid," she said.

"Gr- how much is a gram?" I asked, feeling stupid. She rolled her eyes but hopped down from her platform and brought a basket up on the counter. The moss was a pale yellow, dusty looking, and all clumped together, almost like sod. She showed me a pinch of the stuff.

"This is a gram," she said. I glared, offended that she thought me such an easy target. I didn't know how much we needed, but it was certainly more than a pinch – and that pinch was certainly less than a gram. But her smirk only grew.

"Or maybe that's two grams," she said, and laughed, dropping the stuff back into the basket. Someone bumped into me, and I turned, annoyed. To my surprise, it was Dutchy. His face was ghost-white and his hair a little damp.

"Dutchy, where is Boots?" I asked quickly. "Susie" leaned forward and watched up with interest. Dutchy looked past me, mouthing something.

"The… he's there, I see him," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "I'm coming, I'm coming…" and he left. I tried to grab his shirt but he was just out of my reach, and I wasn't going to go chasing after Dutchy when I was so close to actually accomplishing something. I rolled my eyes and Susie snickered.

"Listen, kid, do you want it or not?"

"How much per gram, again?"

"I never told you in the first place, but, listen, you're young, I'll get you a real good deal." She paused and looked me up and down. "Coins, the real big ones – the quarter dollars. One for a gram. Then get lost. Unless you got somethin' better, that is." I'd opened my mouth to argue when she suddenly jumped back on her step and began yelling at someone I couldn't see. I looked at her, looked at where Dutchy had gone, and, in one movement, grabbed a huge handful of the moss and walked away, quickly blending in with the dense crowd. I shoved the clump in my pocket and considered the best move to make. Up ahead I saw Dutchy, his shock of blond hair easy to spot, bumping into people and generally causing trouble. Boots was nowhere in sight. I grumbled to myself and started walking faster in an attempt to catch up with him. Unfortunately, I'd forgotten all about Susie's height advantage.

I heard her screech, and several other raised voices answer her. I knew I should split, and fast, but there was no way I could leave without the other two, especially since she had seen Dutchy and knew we were friends.

I thought I was close enough to Dutchy to finally catch him when something hit the backs of my knees and I went down in a cloud of dust. I tried to throw out my hands to catch myself but only succeeded in skinning my elbows. Something – or someone – climbed on my back and pinned me down. The crowd parted a little as some stopped to watch. Whatever was on my back then grabbed my hair and yanked my head up. I felt hot breath at my ear and groaned, realizing that I had screwed up big time. But nothing happened – at least, nothing that I had been expecting. My head was slammed back down and my face ground in the dirt, and the weight lifted. I was never gladder that Blithe Mile wasn't cobblestones. I heard a spitting sound and something wet hit my ear, then a hand grabbed my upper arm and hauled me up. I staggered and tried to get the dust out of my eyes, feeling a little woozy. A large form was pushing through the crowd, away from me, but I couldn't tell who – or what – it was.

The spectators had already dispersed, probably disappointed that no one ended up maimed. In front of me stood Dutchy, Boots, and… Swifty? Dutchy was pale, but looking better, Boots just looked relieved for some reason, and Swifty glared and grabbed my arm again.

"You disgust me, you know that?" he hissed, and yanked me behind him. I shook his hand off and followed, irritated even though he had probably just saved my neck. Dutchy and Boots fell in behind us.

"Swifty, what-"

"Don't bother," he said, and so we walked in silence, exiting the market by a side street that led back to a main road. We went across the road and down another alley, which landed us right in front of Swifty's house. I blinked, both surprised and confused. I knew we were nowhere near Swifty's house, but we'd just reached his door in less than three minutes. What was going on?

He opened the door and pulled us all inside, slamming it closed behind him. I started to walk into the main room, but he spun around and jabbed a finger into my chest.

"_Don't_ move," he barked, and left us standing in a huddle and at a loss. I heard a hushed conversation, including a woman's voice – but not the same voice as the woman from before – and then silence.

"I'm not waiting all day!" said Swifty. I sighed and went into the main room, not a little tentatively. When it came to dealing with Swifty and his temper, I was a little out of practice.

He stood right in the middle of the room, arms crossed, eyes blazing. When we entered, he took one look at me and then grabbed a flask from his vest and spun the cap off. It bounced across the floor and under the couch. He drained the flask and then threw it at me, and I blocked it with my forearm. It clattered to the ground and he began yelling before the noise had subsided.

"Fuck you, okay?" he said, only looking at me, although by this point the other two had joined me. "Fuck you. I'm not getting involved. Not if you're just gonna fuck around. Christ. Who do you think you are?"

I didn't bother answering; nothing I could say would please him.

"You think I'm gonna save your sorry ass every time? Those days are over, kid."

I bristled at the word kid, but remained silent. Unfortunately, that seemed to anger him even more. I wondered what had been in the flask.

"Fuck you. Fuck all of you. This is a joke."

"It's not a joke!" Dutchy said, but Swifty ignored him.

"What'd you steal?" he asked me. "Tell me, was it worth it? What is it? Fuckin solid gold? _Christ_."

I hesitated, and didn't answer.

"Well?"

I shook my head.

"You've got to be kidding me. You want my help or not?"

"Depends, are you going to be piss drunk all the time?" I snapped. His fists clenched.

"What. Do. You. Have," he said, straining to get out every word.

"Nothing," I said, and returned his glare. We stood maybe a yard apart in a sort of face off. Now one hand shot out and he grabbed my shirt, pulling me close.

"You need me," he shot, our foreheads touching. "You _know_ that."

"Just tell him, why can't you tell him?" Dutchy pleaded from behind me. But I stayed stubbornly silent and pushed away from Swifty.

"This is bullshit," he spat. "I take you in, I help you, I do this, and what? Not even a thank you?! Tell me, were you using me from the beginning?"

What was I supposed to say? I couldn't tell him because he was crazy? Because he was dangerous, unpredictable? Because he'd been _here_ too long and I didn't know him anymore? Nothing would explain that all my senses were screaming at me to stay away from him, to keep it a secret. Even if he had helped us before, and even if he had just saved us. Hadn't he?

Swifty gave up on me and turned his gaze onto Boots, as if seeing him for the first time. "You must be Boots," he said, and smirked. Great, mood swings.

Boots nodded, shivered. Swifty laughed, but there was no mirth in it.

"Good luck," he said, and laughed again. "Man. Yeah, good luck."

I frowned, but Swifty was done, his rage apparently past. He looked at me almost sadly, then turned and walked toward the door to the stairs.

"Get out," he said, and closed the door firmly behind him.

We stood in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments before I said, "Come on, we should go," and herded them outside. It was still early, but we were a long way from our base, seeing as I had no idea how we'd gotten to Swifty's house in the first place. I couldn't even find the side street I could've sworn we'd come through.

"We're going back to the Brick," I said, leading the way yet again.

"But-"

"I don't have any energy to do anything else," I said angrily. I needed to lie down. "Besides, I think you two have some explaining to do," I added.

"Just us?" Boots asked quietly. I ignored him, feeling a headache coming on.

"Let's go."


	10. concession

**note: **Actually, I guess I don't have anything to say. I wanted to name this chapter "surprise," but Falco and I decided that it didn't quite fit with the rest of the titles. Alas. Maybe you'll enjoy it anyway.**  
**

**ten: **concession

* * *

It took even longer than I'd expected to get back, and it was late afternoon by the time we reached our safe house. The whole journey was made in silence, Boots and Dutchy seemingly hesitant to speak in fear that I would lash out, while I was in a rotten mood and too lost in my own, self-pitying thoughts to attempt any small talk. Anyway, I was starting to grow accustomed to our silence. We returned to the inn in that fashion, and grabbed something to eat in the bar, still uncomfortable with each other. Once we reached the room, we all sat around facing each other, no one willing to be the first to break the spell. Dutchy laid down on his bed and threw his an arm over his eyes, whereas Boots just sat against the wall facing the two beds, his gaze flickering between the two of us. I gave in.

"I probably don't even want to know the answer to this, but where did you guys go in the market? Because you certainly weren't together. And Swifty didn't seem too happy. Did he "save" you, too?" I almost felt sick. If he had saved us all, then the evidence was stacking up that I had been in the wrong when I'd refused to talk to him. But I didn't want to think about that.

Neither answered for a long time, and I let that silence reign. Finally, realizing that Dutchy wasn't about to speak, Boots reluctantly volunteered.

"Dutchy left me," he said plainly. He wasn't trying to accuse Dutch, just stating the facts. "He was there one minute, then I looked around and he was gone."

I looked at Dutchy, who hadn't budged.

"So I looked for him," Boots continued, voice uncharacteristically small. He took a deep breath to steady himself. "I looked all over. An' I didn't want to ask anyone for help, but I did, an' the man, he said he could help, and he asked me to follow him, an' I did, an' he led me away, an' then there were less an' less people an' I didn't know where I was, an' I thought maybe I'd made a mistake, but I couldn't turn back-" he gulped. "Then Swifty came outta nowhere and pushed the guy down and dragged me back the other way. Only, I didn't know who Swifty was, so I fought and tried to get away, but I couldn't and then I saw Dutchy an' Swifty saw Dutchy and we all got together an' I knew I was okay."

I frowned. It was strange enough that Swifty had known Boots' name at his house, but he had also known to rescue him from being kidnapped? I felt that uneasiness again, the same feeling that had prevented me from revealing anything to him just a little while before. He knew something – he knew a lot – and he wasn't sharing it. And that's what made me uncomfortable.

Boots was done, in fact he looked exhausted, and I knew I'd made the right decision in cutting the day short and returning to the Brick.

"Alright, Dutch," I said loudly. "Your turn. Where'd you-"

"I saw him," he said quietly, painfully. "I saw him."

"Saw who?" I asked gently, even though I already knew.

"Specs… he was there."

Boots and I exchanged a glance.

"At the market?"

"I tried to follow him, but I couldn't catch up, I couldn't catch up no matter how hard I tried." His body was shaking, and he rolled over onto his stomach so his face was hidden in his pillow. It explained a lot, his chalk white face, his bizarre actions. Had he seen a ghost? Would we even know if Specs died?

I remembered the Brotherhood, the Pact, and hoped they would check in soon. I needed to know what was going on in the Other side, even if I couldn't do anything about it. If Specs was a ghost, we were in trouble. If not… if Dutchy was seeing things… well, we were still in trouble. I didn't know how to respond, so I didn't. I just looked at Boots, who returned my gaze sadly, then offered a half smile to show he was on my side. I smiled weakly back, then stood and brushed off my pants. I reached into my pocket and brought out the moss, which looked rather unimpressive all smashed together in my palm. I set it on the nightstand, and it stuck.

"That's it?" Boots asked, inching forward to get a closer view. I had to laugh.

"Yeah, that's it, bud."

"Can I touch it?"

"I hope so," I said, looking at my hands. They didn't seem any worse for the wear. "Yeah, go for it."

He poked it, and, seemingly satisfied, returned to his spot against the wall.

"You can show it to Dutchy if you want. When he, ah, feels better," I said, still standing. I needed a drink. Badly. "I'm going downstairs," I explained, attempting to rub the last traces of dirt from my face. "I'll be back, though. And… listen…" I paused by the door and checked back to make sure Dutch was paying attention; he was. "I was wrong, and I'm sorry. We should stick together from now on. We will stick together from now on."

Dutchy didn't answer, but I hadn't expected him to. For his response, Boots clambered up on my bed and waved goodbye with a grin.

* * *

I tramped downstairs, where the bar was packed with bodies and noise. Blondie had given up working the office so she could mix drinks and interact with the hoodlums that crowded around the tables and pushed over the chairs. I fought my way to a free stool at the bar itself and clung on. Blondie caught my eye and sent a pint of bitter my way without a word, I just nodded my thanks and held it between my hands, reveling in the anticipation of the cold drink.

To my left, there was only one person separating me from the wall, and now she leaned against it so she could get a good look at me. I watched her back from the corner of my vision. I pretended not to notice and took a few sips of the brew, once again letting myself get lost in thought. She didn't take the hint, she only continued to study me, and eventually it got to me and I turned my head with my eyebrows raised. She knew she was caught but she only smiled, and after a beat, I knew why. I knew this person. I couldn't believe it, but I knew her.

"Ay, mi cariño… it is you," she murmured, and dragged her stool closer. I was still frozen, eyes wide. She covered one of my hands with both of hers and squeezed, green eyes warm and excited.

"You… y… I…" I stammered eloquently.

"Shhh," she said. "It's okay, it's okay. I'm okay. You're okay?"

"I'm okay," I said. "Where…?"

"I can't talk long, mi cielito, but I wanted to check in contigo. You're okay? You are sure?" She looked genuinely worried.

"I'm fine, Sofia," I said, tentatively, as in saying her name would make her disappear, and paused to take a long pull of my beer. "Really. But you…"

"I was not there," she said, guessing my thoughts, and smiled sadly. "I am okay, you are okay, everyone is okay, and this is good. How are things going? With you, your quest?"

I had so many questions to ask her and things to say, but her directness knocked me completely off guard. "Whoa, wait, how did you know?" I was getting way too much information at once and having a hard time processing it all – plus the beer wasn't exactly helping.

"Swifty," she explained, and the smile returned. "Ay, Swifty."

"Swifty didn't even tell us you were alive," I said, more wary of him than ever.

"Pues… he must have had a reason," she answered simply, without hostility. Her presence was calming, and when that was combined with the beer (I was now on my third) I felt completely secure.

"Sofia, I'm glad you're here, so glad. Can you help? Do you have the Cure?"

She shook her head sadly. "I lost everything, todo el mundo, with the fire. I am not able to help you, Antonio, lo siento, I am so sorry."

"It's okay," I said absently.

"Maybe I can help put it together," she suggested helpfully. "When you have everything, but I cannot get the ingredients, I cannot go out, I am in hiding." Her hand found mine and squeezed again, and I felt reassured.

"How will we find you?" I asked, realizing that we didn't have much time. She had been watching the door for awhile now, but I had only just noticed it.

"Swifty," she said, "claro que sì."

I actually groaned. "We can't," I said. "He's mad, Sofia, really mad. I can't go back."

She shrugged. "Swifty will help you, and he knows where he will find me. Està bien, Antonio, just say you are sorry. He will forgive."

"I can't," I repeated, but faltered.

"No, you can," she said firmly, her sharp Spanish accent driving the words into my head. "You can, and you will. Because you need him. And he needs you. You have to work juntos, be together, Antonio. You are strong, together. You are good."

"We're good, yeah, thanks," I said, and sighed into my drink. The last thing I wanted to do was to show up at Swifty's door _again_, especially if it would have to be to beg his forgiveness. He probably wouldn't even let us in. Hell, he probably wouldn't even let us approach the street.

"Graciàs, I knew you would understand. Antonio, I have to leave now, I know I will see you soon. We will talk then."

"Wait!" I shook myself from my stupor and tried to grab her arm, but missed. "Wait, Sofia – who was it? Who burned your shop?"

But she was already moving through the crowd. She was dressed in black and with her long, curly, dark hair, I quickly lost sight of her and cursed. Whatever ill feelings I had, however, were immediately replaced by hope. Sofia was alive. We could do this.

I tossed a few coins to Blondie and pushed off from the bar. I had to tell the others. They could do with some good news for once.

* * *

"She's alive!" I exclaimed, not bothering to provide any suspense. I scrabbled with the locks on the door; my hands were sweating.

"What?"

"Who?"

"Sofia! She's alive!"

At this, Dutchy actually jumped out of bed. "She's alive!" he cried. He was beaming, albeit teetering, a little dizzy, as he had removed his glasses to fall asleep. He looked like he was about to hug me, so I quickly delivered the bad news.

"But… She can't help us."

"What?" his face fell and his mood followed suit. "But…"

"No buts," I said, still elated even with the catch. "You saw her place. It was a disaster. She doesn't have any materials, and apparently she's on the run, too. She can help us, I mean, we can use her brain, but… this still ain't gonna be no cakewalk."

He nodded. "Where is she? Is she here?"

"No, she split. She says we can find her, we can find her if…" I stopped, mentally reviewing the conversation. This was the worst part. "Well we would have to talk to Swifty."

"Ah," said Dutchy, and Boots frowned. Dutchy sat on his bed and put his chin in his hands. After a moment, he said, "You're going to apologize, right?"

I opened my mouth to argue – who said _I_ was the one who had to apologize, anyway? – but decided against it. It was true; we were now at Swifty's mercy, maybe we had been even before this whole thing with Sofia had come up. But she'd made it worse, whether she knew it or not… and I suspected that she did. That thought made me smile, despite my apprehension at returning to Swifty's.

I noticed Boots looking at me carefully. He didn't know me, so he didn't know what I was going to do. I knew. As much as it pained me, the answer was obvious. We had few friends on this side, and it was foolish to lose a key ally, my personal feelings on the matter aside. I trusted Sofia. And, usually, I trusted Swifty. If Sofia trusted Swifty… who was I to say otherwise?

"I guess we'll go tomorrow," I said finally, and Boots smiled, obviously relieved. Dutchy just laid back on his bed, and I shooed Boots off of mine. I wasn't all that tired anymore, but I would regret not getting any sleep. So Dutchy turned out the lamp and waited all of about two seconds before he started speaking again.

"Swifty scared me today, Race," he admitted quietly, although Boots could obviously hear him anyway. "Have you ever seen him like that before?"

And I hesitated, for whatever reason. "Yeah," I said, and then rolled over, signaling that the conversation was over.


	11. revelations

**note: **One chapter away from having the longest story I've ever written, and this monster isn't even close to being done. Hooray. This chapter's special thanks go to: picture frames, polka dots, Lope de Vega, and 40º weather. No thanks to: my iron level. You really let me down today, man.

**eleven: **revelations.

* * *

Walking back to Swifty's house the next day, I remembered the trick he had pulled and wished I knew exactly what had been behind it. This was our third time walking from the Brick to Swifty's house, and I had a feeling that it would not be the last. The route was easy enough, with only a few turns, but it was just so _long_.

As we walked, Boots and Dutchy chatted, making comments about the people and places we passed. In my head, I went over a thousand different things to say to Swifty, ranging from the plainly apologetic to the more diplomatic concession that would perhaps save some of my pride. Nothing seemed to fit, and I gave up after about an hour, frustrated and feeling a headache coming on.

Sensing that I was no longer deep in thought, Dutchy quickened his pace so as to catch up with me and walk abreast. _Great_, I thought, _here come the questions._

"Hey, Race, Boots an' I were just talking. About the market, um, Blithe Mile?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I dunno, I just realized that it almost felt like home, being there, and I couldn't figure out why. But I think I just did."

_Good for you_, I thought, rubbing my temple with the heel of my hand. I was, though, a little curious, so I just waited for him to continue.

"Colors," Dutchy said, as if unveiling some great discovery. "All the colors. I hadn't even noticed, before, but this place has no color!"

"Um, Dutch, there's color here," I said, motioning around. But he was right – almost everyone dressed in drab grays, or olive greens, browns, blacks, the occasional and dirty white. After all, people made it a point to blend in, and those who wanted otherwise didn't have a problem standing out. Anyone trying to make a statement – whatever it may be – made sure to wear colors, bright and vivid reds and blues and yellows that attracted attention wherever they went. At the market, with thousands of people trying to sell their wares, almost everyone tried to use color to catch your eye, whether by wearing a scarf like a rainbow or by decorating their stand with brightly blooming flowers. Flowers, of course, didn't really grow in the Dark – nothing outside weeds and some vegetables, that is. They were another thing smuggled in from the Other side. It was a trivial thing to risk your neck for, but there was a market, and people would buy them.

So, Dutchy was right – there was a distinct lack of color. Even Swifty's favorite pink shirt was a bold move, and he was just bold enough to wear it everywhere, too. I thought of Sofia, and her yellow dresses. Swifty used to call her the canary, both for that and her sweet singing voice. In the bar, she had been in the corner, all in black. Yes, something was wrong.

Dutchy was looking at me oddly, and I realized I'd slipped off into space yet again.

"Sorry, Dutch," I said, attempting a smile. "Got a lot on my mind."

He just nodded, looked almost relieved. "Yeah, me too," he said.

"You're right, though. I guess things are pretty dull. There's a lot of stuff I don't notice anymore, see," I explained. "It's actually… it's actually kind of nice to have you point stuff like that out." I had a feeling I was going to regret saying something like that, now he would probably never shut up. But, again, he simply nodded, pleased.

"I never seen so many colors but in the market," Boots said earnestly, wriggling between Dutchy and myself. "'s that what it's like, on the Other side? All the time?"

"Not all the time –" I began, but Dutchy interrupted.

"Wait, wait, Boots – you've never been to our – ah, the Other side?"

"Well, maybe. I don't remember," said Boots. "I think when I was real little. I don't remember it. I just remember Brooklyn, then the Madame's… yeah. And now here I am."

"Oh," said Dutchy. "Well. Yeah, Race is right." He stopped, and I don't know if he expected me to continue or what, but I stayed silent. I figured it would be nice for Dutchy to be able to explain something for once, for him to be the expert. Besides, I didn't feel like talking, my mind was still too full. So I listened.

"Yeah, there are colors on the Other side. Tons of colors… colors, and… and sunlight, you know? Blue skies, all the time, and sometimes it rains, but that's not always bad. Like, in the summer, when it's so hot you don't think you can move another step and then it starts raining and you get wet but you still stay outside, running through the streets just to feel the drops on your face."

Now I was smiling for real, finding Dutchy's words strangely comforting. Boots was staring up at him, eyes wide in awe - an amusing shift from his usual cheekiness.

"But the sunlight, that's the best," he continued, gathering strength from our attentiveness, "it warms your back when you take a nap outside, and the sunsets, man. Pinks and oranges and greens, all in the sky, free for everyone to see… colors like flowers, ha, that's the best, not the flowers but the pretty girls who sell them and the smiles they give you." Now he was grinning, too. "No, no, the best is the holidays, Thanksgivin', Christmas. The Lodging House, this place we live, they throw these huge dinners, free for any kid who wants it, and the whole night is just all this food, so good, and more than you could ever eat, and drinking and laughing…"

He trailed off when he recognized the street we were now on. It was Swifty's street, and his house wasn't that far away. Both of them looked at me, but I just pressed on, as if it weren't a big deal.

My bravado lasted about until the door, where we stood together, staring it down in all its black monstrosity. Finally, I raised my hand to knock, but before my fist even hit the wood, it opened. Sofia's kind green eyes sparkled as she took a good look at us.

"_Pasa, pasa_… come in, please," she said, and winked at Boots. We stepped in and stood awkwardly in the entryway, eyeing the hallway to the main room, where I was almost positive Swifty would be waiting. Sofia grabbed my wrist and tugged me gently in that direction, and so I moved off with a pleading glance to my companions behind me. They stayed in place, nervous.

Swifty was on the couch, leaning against the far arm so he was facing the hall. His right arm was up on its back and he tapped his fingers against the top to some melody in his head. He watched me coldly as I followed Sofia into the room. She let me go once we were out of the hall, and went to stand by his head.

"You know that if she hadn't talked to me all night, you wouldn't be here right now," he said bluntly, his eyes fixed on me, waiting for a challenge.

"I know," I said.

"Yeah? You know that if I hadn't been at the Mile yesterday, you would've been fed to the dogs," he said.

"I know."

"If you know everything, then tell me, what the hell happened yesterday? What were you thinking?"

This I couldn't explain, even if I'd wanted to. So I just shrugged. He didn't buy it for a second, and decided to ignore it, at least for the time being.

"Did you get the list?" he asked. I nodded. "Let's see it."

I couldn't refuse twice, and Sofia was here, so I called Dutchy and Boots into the room.

"Swifty wants to see the list," I explained. Dutchy took out the black book and shook the papers out, walking over to the couch to offer them to Swifty. Swifty took the papers absently, apparently more interested in the black book. He took that, too. Dutch didn't protest.

"This is a nice book, Dutchy," he said. "Where'd you find this one?"

"It was, um, it was in Madame Proulx's library."

Swifty looked up from flipping through the pages. "Oh, yeah?" Then he looked to me, one eyebrow lifted. "She give you this?"

"Not quite," I admitted, then added, needlessly, "I thought it would be useful."

"Heh. Sticky fingers, Race. That's a new one for you." He handed the book back to Dutchy. "I'd be careful with that, Madame Proulx is very strict about her bargains." His eyes flickered to Boots so fast that at first I thought I'd imagined it. But Boots squirmed a little beside me, and I was hit again by that feeling – Swifty knew something I didn't. He knew a lot more than he was letting on. So why was he hiding it?

Swifty was smart, really smart. At one point I'd had his complete trust, and he mine, but it was obvious that things were a little rocky. Still, if I was going to find out just what he knew, I would have to be upfront and completely honest – he would see right through anything else. So, I went out on a limb.

"Listen," I said, trying my best to ignore the fact that there were others in the room. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I don't know what I was thinking. I know you saved us, all of us – I heard the other stories last night – and I also know that we might not have gotten anywhere in the beginning without your help. So, I'm sorry that I didn't trust you. And I'm sorry that it took Sofia for me to realize that I was wrong."

I'm not big on apologies – ever. But this thing, it was bigger than my pride. There was a bit of an awkward silence when I finished, Swifty probably just as bad at accepting apologies as I was giving them out. So he just looked at me, a little taken aback, and then twisted around so he could see Sofia, who was standing looking rather amused.

"You saw him last night too?"

She looked down and just smiled.

"_Claro_."

He shook his head. "Fair enough." A pause. "You know, Race… I know how it is, how things happen when you go back. I know maybe you forget stuff, as impossible as it seems to me." Suddenly he seemed to change his mind about what he was saying, I could see the shift visible on his face. He was talking about something much more complicated than my apology, and even Dutchy seemed to sense it, for he took a step forward and probably didn't even realize. "See," Swifty was saying, "for you it's like a dream, like you remember the important parts and some of the terror, you remember bodies and names that have no faces, whatever. Me, I wake up every morning and I have to remind myself that it is a new day, and that the people, the things in my thoughts, they are not real, no matter how vivid they are in my own dreams." Here, Sofia placed a hand on his shoulder, but he ignored her.

"So I guess maybe I can't blame you, not for everything, not when you're forgetting, because you don't realize it. But that doesn't mean I will let it slide a second time, because I won't. If you're going to mock me and my trust a second time, you might as well go back, for good this time, because I don't think I can tolerate that again, I don't think I could still keep control."

"It won't happen again," I said, my voice coming out a lot quieter than I'd expected. But he heard me, and nodded, and cleared his throat, as eager to move on as I was. He looked at the papers in his hands, apparently just remembering that he had them. His eyes scanned down the list. Sofia, curious, looked over his shoulder, reading too, and nodding as she went.

"This is not simple, you know," she said, looking up and directing the comment at Dutchy. He blinked, surprised anyone was paying attention to him.

"Um, not really," he admitted. "I don't know what any of it means."

"The Fever, you see, it takes much energy to put on someone – to cast. It is difficult. The Cure, too, that is difficult."

"There aren't many ingredients," Swifty commented.

"No," she agreed. "But that does not make it more easy."

"We got the Hangman's Moss yesterday," Dutchy offered. Swifty looked up at me, and this time he grinned.

"So that's what you nicked? That's it?"

"She was trying to rip me off!" I protested. "I didn't bring all that much stuff, I mean, I thought we could just find Sofia, you know…" I shrugged, and suddenly remembered my unanswered question from the night before. Did Sofia know who was responsible? If she did, she probably would have mentioned something by now. I held my tongue. There would be time to ask later.

"Savory," Swifty said suddenly. "I have savory."

"You have savory?" I repeated, not bothering to hide my skepticism.

"Sure, I have savory," Swifty said. "It's an herb, it's for beans and things."

"Told ya," Boots said from the windows, where he had long since wandered.

Swifty passed the papers to Sofia and eased himself up.

"It's in the kitchen somewhere, but that place is a mess. I need to stretch, I'll look for it now. Call if you need me." He disappeared into the kitchen. Sofia took his spot on the couch and beckoned to me.

"_Venga_, sit. And you – Danya?"

Dutchy nodded.

"Good, sit, Danya. Lucas, would you like to sit?"

"No, thanks," Boots said. "Hey, how did you know my name?"

I was curious to hear this, too, but Sofia just smiled a little and shook her head. "Now, that is not a very polite thing to ask, is it?"

Boots didn't look like he agreed, but he shut up anyway and went back to staring out the window. Sofia turned her attention to us. Her mood had shifted completely, the normal calm of her face disrupted by eyes heavy with tears.

"You saw it, my shop?" she asked me softly.

"Yes…" I said, remembering the ruins, remembering the girl…

"I lost Elke," she said, and one tear escaped down her cheek. "_Dios mio_, Elke is gone."

Elke, that was the girl! I wondered if Sofia knew what had happened to her, what she thought. I remembered Elke now, all skin and bones and smile. She had big brown eyes, like a doe, and spoke very little English. I tried to remember her like that, tried to remember her as she was in the back of Sofia's shop, or winding her way through the market, but all I could see was the hanging figure, swaying, and the raucous crowd beneath.

Sofia must have seen it in my eyes, because she leaned a little closer.

"You saw Elke," she said. "You know."

I nodded solemnly. She didn't ask questions.

"I was not there, you know," she said through her tears. "I let Elke keep the shop open, she would run it, she was so proud. I was at the Mile, picking things up. I went home, but the streets were empty, and there was so much smoke, and I knew. _Sabìa que todo estuvo perdido_. I dropped everything, I ran, I hid. I came to Swifty, and he helped me, but I knew… I knew she was gone."

"You were lucky," I said. She said nothing. I tried again. "Who… who do you think is responsible? Who did it?"

"I do not know. I was not there. I have not been back. _No sè nada_."

"Is this our fault? It is my fault?" Dutchy asked, horrified. Again Sofia did not answer, not directly.

"I do not blame you," she said. She was sincere, and she met his eyes to show him this.

"I'm sorry," Dutchy said. "I didn't know…"

"I do not blame you," she repeated. Then, barely audible, she murmured, "I should have been there… _ay_."

"And then you would be hanging from that tree, you and Elke both," said Swifty. I jumped. He was still at the kitchen door, looking out, but I had not even heard it open. Sofia looked at her hands and another tear fell, leaving a tiny wet splotch on the couch. I shifted uncomfortably. Swifty moved away from the door, leaving it slightly ajar. About a minute later, he pushed it open with his shoulder and emerged with several cups. Two were coffee, for Dutchy and me, and the other looked like tea. He set this by Sofia's side of the couch, and, after a moment's thought, took the silver colored flask from his vest and put it beside the cup.

Sofia added some of the liquid in the flask to the cup and took one tentative sip, then another. Then, holding it with both hands, she put the hot cup against her cheek and sort of sighed.

"He's a good cook, you know," she said. Her eyes were closed, but I guessed she was talking to me.

"Swifty? That's new."

"_Sì_, a little new. He has taught himself. That is why he has savory, of course. I think it is a little silly. Savory, and all of those things, they are common on the Other side, maybe. But they are dangerous here. Dangerous, and expensive. He gets them, somehow. He uses them. It is foolish… but the food is good." She opened her eyes and smiled a little, put the cup down and carefully wiped her tears away with the back of her index finger.

It was here, in this lapse in conversation and this vulnerable moment, that I think it all hit me. It hit me that not only was Sofia alive and sitting right next to me, but that I'd thought we'd lost her. I must have blinked because when I looked at her again, I saw her in a new light, like seeing her for the first time. In the bar she had been among shadows and I had been tired, confused, shocked – now I could get a good look at her.

Her eyes, always the first thing to catch my attention, were green and hidden by long, dark lashes. Her hair was near black and fell in gentle waves just past her shoulders. She was slender, and paler than I remembered, with rings on delicate fingers and a number of gold bangles on both wrists. Again today she was dressed in all black, and I figured maybe that served two purposes – to hide, and to mourn Elke. It was strange, though, to see her so subdued. This was not the canary Swifty was so fond of.

She caught me staring at her and I blushed a little, and quickly tried to think of something to say. The only things coming to mind were questions about Swifty, things I really wanted to know, but could not ask him directly. Of course, right as I opened my mouth, Swifty came out of the kitchen, triumphantly holding up a small paper bag.

"Found it," he said smugly, and then handed the bag to Sofia, who looked in and sniffed a little.

"This is savory," she agreed. She passed it to Dutchy. He peered inside, unimpressed. Sofia finished the last sip of her tea and stood, carefully smoothing her black skirt. She gave Swifty a long hug, her cheek pressed against his chest and her gaze cast downward. He held her to him with one hand at the small of her back and the other tucking her hair behind her ear. He kissed the top of her head, and as I watched, I felt a pang of jealousy. It was as if Dutchy and Boots had disappeared and I was the third wheel, and I realized, maybe for the first time, what I had lost in going back to the Other side. I'd never thought there would be a backlash in my decision, but at that moment I felt so out of place that it actually made me angry. So I looked away.

Sofia wasn't going to make it that easy. She finally broke away from Swifty and came to me next, and I stood and let her wrap her arms around my neck, feeling a little uncomfortable. I avoided Swifty's eyes. Sofia gave me one last squeeze and then drew back to look at me.

"I am so happy to have seen you," she said, eyes damp once again. Next she went to Dutchy and took his hand and said something to him, but I couldn't catch was it was. I just saw Dutchy's forlorn, yet hopeful, expression, which wasn't a huge change from how he normally looked.

Sofia waved goodbye to Boots and paused by the hall.

"Antonio," she said, "remember I will look for you, but you will need to talk to Joseph to find me, _vale_?"

"_Vale_," I said, and smiled a little. She laughed, and left. Now the room was quiet except for the ticking of a wall clock, which I couldn't remember ever being so loud.

"Well," said Swifty, looking at each of us in turn. "I was thinking lunch…?"

"Sounds good," I said, and, seeing a chance to talk with him one on one, added, "let me help."

He nodded and went back into the kitchen. Boots made himself comfortable on the couch, looking bored. Dutchy had brought out the black book again and was puzzling over it. I followed Swifty.

* * *

Swifty went to work lighting his stove and threw me a bunch of scrawny carrots, motioning to a knife I could use to peel and slice them. I put everything on the wooden island in the middle of the small room and got started, watching his back. I didn't say anything, and I wasn't planning on it. He would talk when he was ready, and he knew that I was waiting. I had apologized, had shown him the list, had admitted I was wrong. Now it was his turn.

He cleared his throat. "You know, I didn't think it would come to this." He paused to lift a huge pot on top of the stove. "I guess things just got out of hand, real fast."

I perked up. This sounded like something. But I was more apprehensive than excited.

"I'm glad we have a chance to talk, you and me," he said, turning to face me. "I… there are some things, I don't know if I could tell Dutch. I don't know how he'd take it, what he'd think of me. I don't know what he thinks of me anyway."

"Does it matter?" I asked. Swifty had never cared about anyone's opinion before. He shrugged.

"Guess not. But I do want to help. Somehow I feel like I owe that. To Specs," he added, probably only to irritate me. He didn't think he owed me anything and he would take every opportunity to remind me of that.

"Back up," I said. "How do you know Specs? I mean… okay obviously you know Specs, but… okay, just from the beginning."

"Sometime last year Specs wandered into the Dark, the same way you or I must have when we were a lot younger." I nodded. "As luck would have it, we bumped into each other – actually, I saw him from across the street and went to say 'hi.' See, I hadn't seen anyone since…" he paused and lifted an eyebrow in my direction, apparently this too was my fault. "…so I figured he knew, you know, where he was and we could catch up. Turns out he was confused as hell, so I took him in for the night. Carrots done yet?"

I said they were and he threw them in the pot. "There are some potatoes under there. Anyway, we had some drinks, had some laughs, and throughout the night I explained everything – about the Dark, that is. He was pretty… interested. He said he wanted to get involved, which surprised me. I'd told him I couldn't picture him here, he was the exact opposite of any Dark kid, you know, and, I dunno, maybe that's what made up his mind. Maybe he wanted to prove me and everyone else wrong. Whatever.

"So I said 'fine.' I thought I could use him, honestly, you know, small time smuggling, enough to get his feet wet and get rid of that curiosity while turning me at least a small profit."

"And?"

"And… that's it. He did it a few times, then he just disappeared. He cut off contact. I knew he was okay because I saw him a few times – just from afar – and I knew he was still at the Lodging House. So, what the hell, the kid didn't want to work anymore. Fine. But it was still pretty rude not to tell me."

I laughed at this and he smirked a little, too. Okay, so Swifty had gotten Specs into this whole mess, but he wasn't quite responsible. There had to be more to it.

"Anyway," he said, "my suspicion is, and always has been, that our pal Dutch knows nothing about this side of his Love."

"Yup, you've got that right," I agreed. "But, wait, that's it? What about the Fever?"

"I have no idea. Well. I have some idea. Seems that he probably just got in with the wrong crowd after he split from me. Made them angry. Who knows."

"So I guess you were pretty surprised to see us knocking at your door, then."

"Of course – more surprised about you than him, though. I had a feeling Dutch would find out eventually. When I saw Sofia's… you know, the smoke… I knew something was up. When Dutch knocked on my door, well, that sealed it. I just didn't know if I wanted to help."

Standing there, peeling potatoes, I was feeling good. I felt better about Swifty – he had definitely been hiding something, but if this was true – and I believed him, I had no reason not to – then it explained a lot. I realized the burden of telling Dutchy about Specs was now on my shoulders, but I would deal with it later.

I was also feeling better because of how Swifty was acting toward me. He was… chatty, friendly. It wasn't quite what I was expecting, and it definitely wasn't how he had first received me. I wondered if he was ready to forgive me, and also about just what Sofia had said the night before.

All that changed when he turned back around, hands held out for the potatoes.

"That's all I need, you should probably go back to Dutch and explain. And, listen, because I saw that goddamn smirk on your face. Just remember that I'm doing this for Dutch, and for Specs, and for Sofia. I don't know why you're here but I can't get rid of you anyway, so I'll put up with you. But don't expect to be let into my house if you show up alone, and know that I know that you ruined Sofia, and she knows it too, only she's too nice to admit it. So get the fuck outta my kitchen."

Calmly, I handed him the potatoes and left. Okay. So things weren't _perfect._


	12. precautions

**note: **I did a lot of planning this week, which is exciting for the story. This chapter is sponsored by Nick Drake's "Pink Moon," which I wrote to. It's shorter than usual, but from hereon out the action will start to pick up, and the chapters will get longer (in theory!). Thanks for reading.

**twelve: **precautions

* * *

It was Swifty's house, so I heeded his wishes; I didn't spend another second in his kitchen. Instead, he employed Boots to bring out four deep bowls of the steaming stew he had created. It was delicious, and, when combined with the fire that he had started in the fireplace, created the effect of being lulled into a state of something resembling serenity. Really, though, I think I was just exhausted, and it was starting to get to me. 

Still, the others appeared to be similarly captivated,and enjoyed the chance to rest and feel normal, while getting a good meal down at the same time. So we ate in companionable silence, Swifty thoughtfully regarding an oblivious Dutchy almost the entire time.

"Dutch, who runs this place?" he asked finally, effectively knocking Dutchy out of his stupor.

"Uh?"

"The Dark."

"I… don't know?"

Swifty nodded and set his bowl and spoon on the table. He remained forward in his seat, elbows on his knees. "Sounds like it's time for a little lesson in politics," he said. I laughed shortly. Okay, things could get complicated, but the Dark wasn't as delicately run as the word 'politics' might imply. There was no corruption, because there was no government. For the most part, it was simple brute strength – or cunning – that decided the fate of things.

I knew what would comprise Swifty's "lesson," but before I could ponder more on the subject, he began to speak. It was just as well.

"Warlords run this place," Swifty said, holding Dutchy's eye contact. Boots, who had been close to dozing off, now rubbed at his eyes and attempted to stay alert.

"A lot of them. How many? Who knows. They change, of course, someone is always gaining power or losing power, whatever, it's almost impossible to keep track of it all unless you're really involved. But there are some heavyweights out there, and you need to know about them. Or at least you need to know about the system, or else you're going to find yourself in a lot of trouble.

"The most important thing to remember is that the warlords control almost all of the entries and exits to and from this place. Where did you guys come in?"

"Battery Park," I volunteered. "The edge."

"Yeah, I thought as much. That's a good one, public for the most part, if only because it's near impossible to guard. See, the majority of these warlords, they make their money and hold onto their power through smuggling. Has Race told you about smuggling?"

Dutchy shook his head. I shrugged. There was only so much I could unload at once. I certainly didn't mind someone else doing the talking for once.

"Right, okay. Well, that's how people make money. See, people live here, some 'cause they want to, some 'cause they have to, others… well, others just don't know any other way. But still, everyone wants things from the Other side, things you can't get here. So people smuggle those things in and sell them for an outrageous profit. Now, some individuals, they want more than they can get by themselves. So they join up with others, and soon enough one takes control, leads the rest, and if enough money and manpower are involved, then you've got yourself a warlord."

I smiled again. That was the basic explanation. Swifty either didn't notice my reaction, or he simply chose, as usual, to ignore it.

"The warlords are always fighting with each other, in part because they love to fight, in part because they're all greedy for more power; more money, more people under them. In general, you can go about your business and not be bothered. But there are some things you gotta know. You gotta know which exits you can and cannot use. Race will take care of that. The warlords control the doors in order to control what comes in them. The more doors you have, the more stuff, the more power, right? Some don't care if you just go in and out, others will kill you."

"Kill?" asked Dutchy with a frown.

"Kill. And why not? There's no police here, Dutch, no "justice" as we know it. The only people who would care about another dead body are those who would want revenge, or an excuse for revenge."

"Okay. But I don't really get it. What are they bringing in, the people who work for these… warlords? Money, gold, what? What's worth it?"

"Gold, yeah, maybe," I said. "But most of it is a lot simpler than that. I mean… well, for example, grain. Or fresh fruit. Food, like, I don't know, Coca Cola. Building materials – you know, quality wood, strong nails. Books! Horses, trinkets, you name it."

"You mean I could risk my life by just bringing a bottle of Coca Cola through the wrong door?"

"Pretty much," I admitted. "Though, one bottle? Probably not. A few cases? That would definitely raise some eyebrows. But you could also make a helluva a lot of money."

Dutchy shook his head. "Too weird," he muttered.

"It's just the way things work," said Swifty. And, a little more harshly, "It's a different world. Get used to it."

"I'd rather not," Dutchy returned, with just a little metal in his voice. I had to bite back a grin. It was one of the only times I'd seen Dutchy talk back to someone – ever – and it was definitely the first time it had happened in the Dark. But Swifty had his poker face on, and didn't bat an eye.

"Here's another example," I said, mostly just to break up the awkward silence. "One of the biggest guys out there, he's called the Iceman, guess why?" Without waiting for anyone to answer, I continued, "He controls the ice in the Dark. All of it. White gold, you know? Pretty ridiculous. But it's necessary; there's a demand. So he makes all this money and he has all this power – and trust me, it's a lot."

Swifty nodded in agreement. "You don't want to mess with the Iceman.

"Okay," Dutchy said, digesting all the information. "Well, how about alcohol? That must be a pretty big market."

"Nah," said Swifty with a huge grin. "Nah, the booze we make ourselves." Then he took his flask from his vest and emptied it to make a point. Dutchy laughed nervously.

"Any questions?" I asked.

"I don't think so."

"Well, keep thinking," Swifty said, standing. "Boots, bring the dishes into the kitchen, just leave them in the basin for now. We have a little work to do."

"What's that?" I asked and Boots scrambled to his feet.

"We're going to find a place to hide those ingredients," he said, motioning for Dutch and me to follow him upstairs. We obliged, but as we climbed the steps, I again called into question my trust of Swifty. But what could I do? Anyway, all we had at this point was the moss and the savory. It would be a setback to lose those, no doubt, but there was no reason Swifty would bother with stuff like that. Besides, I didn't feel any real misgivings. After all, Swifty apparently still thought that I was the one to be wary of. Who knows; maybe I was.

Swifty had put the moss in the bag with the savory under the logic that "eventually it would all be mixed together anyway." That was hard to argue with. We were crowded in the bedroom that Dutchy and I had slept in a few nights previous, watching Swifty as he pried up a floorboard.

"I don't think anyone is going to come looking for this stuff," he explained as he worked. "But you might as well take some precautions. At least it'll be better than putting it under your bed at the Brick." He dropped the last nail into a small pile and wiggled the board out of place. The floorboard he had selected had looked absolutely identical to the others, but now we could see there was a sealed compartment underneath. It was so unnatural and out of place, it had to have been purposefully built there. I had to wonder, though, how Swifty had found out about it.

"It's kind of small, but it will do for the time being," said Swifty. Dutchy handed him the bag and he flattened it into the space and then began replacing the board. "I have to admit," he continued, "I'm a little surprised that you guys don't have more yet. I understand some, like, I have no clue what some of that shit means – "Lucky Feet?" The hell? But, I mean, what about those elixirs? That should've been easy."

"Easy?" I said. "I couldn't even pronounce most of those names."

He finished and looked up at me in that annoying "isn't-it-obvious" way. "It doesn't matter," he said. I failed to show any sign that I understood yet. "Pete?" he asked, getting up. "One Lung Pete?"

I realized, and I could've hit myself with his hammer for being so stupid. "One Lung Pete," I murmured. "Shit. How could I've forgotten?"

He shrugged and brushed past me to the stairs outside. "It's the Other side. It's messin' with ya."

I ignored the shot and followed, a confused Dutchy in tow.

"So he's still around?"

"Of course he's still around. The man's an institution. Please tell me that you at least haven't forgotten where to find him."

"I haven't forgotten," I said quickly, for some reason eager to redeem myself. Swifty already thought I was dumb enough without me having to prove it. I couldn't believe I'd forgotten about One Lung Pete. He should've been the next person on my list, right after Sofia. Wait. There was no way that… "Would he have the Cure?" I asked, which wasn't a great idea, as I could almost _hear_ the sound of Dutchy's hopes rising.

"No. One Lung Pete only likes dealing with raw materials. Sofia does the combinations. Hey, do you need a lesson, too, Race?"

"No thanks," I said tersely. Outside it had started to rain, and Boots was at the window again, watching the gloomy scene without much interest.

"Yeah, we'll see," Swifty muttered, more to himself than anyone else, though he made sure I heard it. I ignored him in an attempt to be the bigger man and looked to Dutchy.

"You ready to go?" I asked. He made a point of looking out the window and grimacing.

"It's just a little rain," I said, irritated. Sure, Dutchy didn't care if we stayed. Swifty _liked_ Dutchy, for whatever reason. Boots turned around, also skeptical, but Swifty waved them both off.

"Yeah, he's right, don't worry about it," he said. "Besides, it won't be a long walk."

I wisely decided not to argue. I reminded myself that I was the bigger man.

"See you around," was all Swifty said as we left. Once we were on the street, I looked back just once, right in time to see him open the door to let someone else in, from the shape of the figure I gathered it was a woman – and definitely not Sofia. I rolled my eyes and trudged onward.

We turned that first corner and I was shocked to see the Brick staring me in the face. I had just settled into my thoughts for the long walk home, but here we were. I stood rooted in place, as did the others, who certainly noticed that our journey was nowhere near as tedious as usual. As one, we turned around. But the street behind us was what it should be; just the road that connected with the Brick and began that long walk. I shook my head, dazed. What the hell?

"Is that it?" Dutchy asked breathlessly. "That's twice, now. Is that Swifty's… power?"

I shook my head, still staring down a road we had somehow skipped. "No. I wish… would've made things a lot easier," I added under my breath.

"So… what is it?" Dutchy asked, probably glad he finally had an excuse to ask me.

I turned to face him, thinking carefully. Swifty was old. He was older than me by a little, anyway, but after living here, in the Dark… just _old._ Did he still have it? Could he still…? I hadn't yet been in the kind of position that would allow me to judge. So I just shrugged, which probably confused Dutchy even more, and figured I may as well share.

"Well… it's persuasion."


	13. reunions

**note: **If I actually write 1,000 words of Epic every day like I'm planning to, updates will be even more frequent. Cool, eh? Again, thanks to everyone reading and reviewing, you guys are pretty awesome. Thanks also to Nick Drake, who continues to serenade me with his bittersweet 'tunes. **  
**

**thirteen: **reunions

* * *

I woke up the next morning still exhausted, which, by this point, wasn't much of a surprise. I lied in bed facing the wall, torn about what to do next. The most logical course of action would be to find One Lung Pete and get the elixirs, but I didn't really feel like bringing my whole entourage with me to do it. After the Blithe Mile incidents, I didn't trust them enough to leave them alone either, so I was kind of in a bind. I finally made myself get up and I went to the window, digging the sleep from my eyes.

The street below was busy with people already out and about, another reminder that we had work to do. Boots and Dutchy were now waking up, questions in their eyes. I sat back on the edge of my bed and yawned.

"Race," said Dutchy, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and fumbling with his glasses. "I've been thinking. Who is One Lung Pete?"

"A friend," I said, paused, "sort of."

"A friend like Swifty's 'a friend'?" Boots asked wryly from the floor. He was sitting now, too, knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. He grinned at my discomfort.

"No. He's not so much a friend as he is a… business partner. But we get along. Or, at least, we did. I just haven't seen him in awhile, is all."

"Yeah? I keep hearin 'bout this. So where you been all this time, anyway?" Boots asked, and I was starting to get a little unnerved at his astuteness.

"Home," I said simply, and found myself looking at Dutchy, who was nodding in agreement. I caught his eye and we both smiled a little, Boots watching us curiously.

The peace was broken by a sudden knock at the door. It was quick and quiet, almost like an accident, but nevertheless we knew it was for us. We all exchanged glances, because no one had any idea who it could be.

I went to the door, mainly because no one else looked like they were about to move. I opened it a bit and prepared myself for anything. I was pretty taken aback at what actually greeted me; standing in the hall with his hat in his hands and a sheepish grin on his face was none other than Bumlets.

"Hey," I said, the surprise registering on my face. I stepped back and allowed him to come in.

"Hey," he said, and then smiled around the room. "Hey, Dutch."

Dutch's grinned, relieved. "Hey!"

"This is Boots," I said. Boots jumped up and spit on his hand. Bumlets laughed a little and returned the gesture, and everything seemed remarkably normal.

"So? How's things?" Bumlets asked, crossing his arms across his chest and surveying us all with that same smile. "How're you holdin' up? I heard about Sofia. Man. That's rough."

"Yeah," I said with a nod. Suddenly I remembered the pact, remembered that day we sat in the park, and I added, "But I guess we all knew it wasn't going to be that easy."

He glanced at me and I could see the recognition flicker in his eyes as well. "Guess not," he said, and sighed, sat next to Dutchy.

"How's everything back home?" Dutchy asked worriedly.

"Good," Bumlets said slowly, clearly calculating how much he should and should not say. "I'm not going to sugarcoat things," he decided after a moment. "I mean, Specs is bad, Dutch, real bad."

Dutchy let out a shaky breath and attempted a grateful smile in Bumlets' direction.

"He was bad even before we left," I pointed out.

"Yeah, exactly," Bumlets agreed. "He's worse, but he's hangin on. He's tough, kid," he said, directing this last comment to Dutchy. "He's real tough."

"And everything else?" I prodded. "Everything normal, or what? Help us out here, we're totally…"

"…in the Dark?" Bumlets finished, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, yeah. You know."

"Everything is normal, yeah, of course. Kloppman crawled back to the Lodging House after the CAS got on his case, but he still won't come upstairs and you can't even mention Specs' name in front of him. Jack wanted to get Specs to a doctor, but so far we've been able to convince him that he'll get better soon. Still, some of the others… they're skeptical. You know, though, Pie-eater? He's been really helpful."

"Yeah?" I asked. Bumlets looked thoughtful.

"Yeah. Really. I mean, the kid still isn't talking for whatever reason, but he's always by Specs' side, making sure he's comfortable, whatever, you know, whatever he can do."

Dutchy obviously took comfort in this, and Bumlets must have noticed, because he continued on.

"We have faith in you guys, everyone that knows. I mean everyone is thinking about Specs, not just the Dark kids. Us, we just know a little more than them, but everyone's worried. I mean, it's Specs, kid would never hurt a fly –"

I remembered what Swifty had told me and felt my stomach drop. I didn't know any details, but that what little he had told me only encouraged my imagination. How deep had Specs gotten? Had it changed him?

" – so everyone is pulling for him. They'll all be real excited to hear how you guys are doing, which is half the reason I'm here. The other half is, well, Race I knew you'd get mad if we didn't check in every once in awhile like we said." He flashed me a grin and I rolled my eyes. He was right. I had just been wondering about this so-called "Brotherhood," so it was nice to finally have some sort of confirmation of its existence, and their loyalty. My hand unconsciously moved up to the small nick behind my ear. It had long since scabbed over and was almost smooth again.

"Those kids staying out of trouble?" I asked, still thinking about the other that had made the pact; Skittery, Kid Blink, Snoddy.

"For the most part, but you know them. Skittery, he just attracts trouble no matter what he does, meanwhile Kid goes out on his own to find trouble, and Snoddy, well, that kid's a mystery anyway."

"Sounds pretty normal," I said. He nodded and we fell quiet, having seemingly run out of things to say.

"You live in that 'House, too?" Boots asked out of the blue.

"Yep," said Bumlets, smiling curiously at the kid.

"Seems like a nice place," Boots said with just a hint of wistfulness.

"It is," said Bumlets. "It's a very nice place. Good beds, good friends, cheap food, relative safety. We sell papes, newspapers, it's hard work and it can get boring, but we get to run all over the place, anywhere we want, doing anything we want. Yeah. It's a nice place."

I couldn't help but smirk at the expression on Boots' face, one of rapt attention and not a little idolatry. Dutchy had closed his eyes and I could see the homesickness in the way that his shoulders slumped and hung heavy. I remembered that, that homesick feeling, but I did not feel it that day. That day, I felt nothing but the same weariness that had been plaguing me since the very morning I woke up to the panic in the bunkroom.

"So, tell me, are you close? What have you accomplished, what's your next move?"

"A visit to One Lung Pete," I said, ignoring the first half of Bumlets' questions. He didn't seem to notice.

"Ah, Petey," Bumlets said, and laughed. "Been awhile since I've seen that sonuvabitch. Will he have the Cure?"

"Something like it," I answered. This time he did catch my omission, I could tell because he switched on his poker face, and a certain coldness entered the room that had been absent before. "Actually," I said quickly, "I need to ask you a favor." I trusted Bumlets, and now I needed to assure him of that. Besides, this solved my earlier dilemma. "I need to find Pete but I don't want to bring this kid-" I nodded toward Boots, "-with me. Would you mind staying here for just a little while and looking after him?"

Bumlets hesitated. He had probably had other plans, but a promise was a promise, and what else was this Brotherhood if not one big promise?

"Of course," he said, amiable once more.

"Thanks. And, I mean, you don't have to stay in this room. Just… you know, don't go too far. We gotta deliver the big guy in one piece."

Bumlets looked questioningly to Boots, who shook his head with a little smile. "I'll explain later," he said with an exaggerated sigh.

"Okay," I said, standing up and grabbing a few of my things off of the bed. "Dutch, you wanna come?"

"Sure," he said, trying to hide his surprise that I had asked.

"Alright. Then let's go."

I headed out the door with a wave and a mock salute to Bumlets and we tramped down the stairs and out into the day. The steady rain from the night before had let off a little and now there was just a light drizzle to contend with.

"Why didn't you tell him?" Dutchy asked as soon as we were out the door.

"Tell him what?"

"Tell him about… I don't know, about what we have. What happened – the ingredient list, any of that."

I shrugged. "I guess because he doesn't really need to know."

"He's trying to help us," Dutchy said, with a little more bite in his tone.

"I realize that. But, listen, the less people that know about what we're doing, the better. Even if those people are people we trust. Look at what happened to Sofia. And who knew we were going to Sofia's? Four, five people?"

This thought made Dutchy stop short. "You mean one of them…?"

"No, no, that's not what I mean at all." But I hesitated, and for longer than I should have. "The, um… no, there was no betrayal here. But, you know, the more people know, the more it's talked about, and others hear things and… we're just trying to keep all this quiet, right? We're trying to get through unnoticed."

"Fair enough," said Dutchy, but I knew he had more doubts now than before. But despite my initial hesitation, I was still confident. I ran through my friends in my head. Skittery was loyal to a fault, so long as you could put up with his complaining. Snoddy – Bumlets was right about Snoddy, he was a mystery, dark, brooding, but smart as hell. He wouldn't cross us. Then there was Kid Blink, who'd slept in the bunk above mine for years and had actually saved my life more than once, and finally Bumlets himself. Bumlets had a heart of gold. If he had betrayed us, we wouldn't have been able to touch him – the guilt would have killed him first. No, our group was fine. It was the Dark we had to look out for – always the Dark.

"Listen," I said to Dutchy with a sigh, "I trust Bumlets, again, I really do. We just don't need this – any of it – to be gossip, on this side or the Other."

He nodded, seeing the logic in this. Figuring he was just waiting for the chance to ask more questions, I went ahead and said, "We're going to find One Lung Pete at his favorite hangout. It's a bar. Or something like that. Be careful when we go in. Don't touch anyone. Don't make eye contact. Keep your head down and your eyes on my back. Hopefully we won't be in there long, but I guess it all depends."

"How do you know he'll be at this bar?"

"He'll be there," I assured him. "Unless he's dead, in which case we would probably find his ghost there."

Dutchy opened his mouth to speak. I sighed.

"He's not dead, Dutchy, it… we know he's not dead, Swifty told us to find him. I was just trying to prove a… nevermind." Luckily, it wasn't a long walk.

* * *

I paused for just a second beneath the broken sign of the Quill. "Remember what I said," I hissed to Dutchy, who waved me off. The face of the Quill was nothing but a few steps down to a stained, dark red door. Overhanging the steps was the sign, or what was left; it hung by just one hinge, so that you now had to duck to get inside. Whatever paint had originally been on the sign had long since peeled off, leaving basically a couple of wooden boards nailed together. Honestly, I had no idea why it was still there.

Beyond the red door would be more steps down – steep and narrow – leading to the bar. The bar itself was nothing more than a cellar, complete with a dirt ceiling and damp concrete walls. It was, without doubt, one of the dirtiest and most decrepit places I'd ever had to go – and I'd been there often. I didn't know how One Lung Pete could stand it, but there was a lot about Petey that I didn't understand.

I didn't tell any of this to Dutchy, so he had no idea what he was getting himself into. I wondered, as we trekked down those slippery steps, if he was still glad he had been invited to come along.

* * *

As I'd expected, nothing had changed. Despite the fact that it was still mid-morning, the place was packed with all kinds of riff-raff. I made a path toward the back, doing my best to ignore the feeling of a thousand eyes on the back of my neck. I doubted that anyone was actually watching us, but it felt that way, like bugs were crawling up your back.

The Quill was just a long, narrow rectangle. On the left was the bar, stretching the whole way down, its occupants standing shoulder to shoulder. There was stuff behind that bar that would get cause even the hardest drinker from the Other side to crawl out the door. The right side was lined with booths, dark and separated with dividers that went straight up to the ceiling.

That's where we would find One Lung Pete, all the way in the back corner of the place, holding court in his coveted seat with a stein of something dark and a devilish grin. As we approached, I saw he was alone. We stopped next to the table – Dutchy pressed against the back wall, visibly nervous – and he noticed us right away.

"Well, hot damn, looky heah," he drawled in a familiar but impossible to place accent, standing and stooping a little due to the low ceiling. I grinned and clasped his hand in a firm shake while behind me, Dutchy froze. Maybe I should have warned him about One Lung Pete, but this way was much more fun.

See, One Lung Pete calls himself a chemist, which means that not only does he deal with some shady characters, but the actual nature of his work can get real messy, too. One Lung Pete himself was walking evidence of all this. He face was crisscrossed with a dizzying mix of scars and burns, his eyes a cloudy, light gray, but still functional, and his hands – one of which I was grasping now – were scalded and burned, not one inch of unscathed skin between the two of them. If that wasn't scary enough, he dressed all in rags without discriminating color, pattern, or fit. Most of his teeth were chipped and he didn't have much hair left. I was used to him, but even still I had to blink a few times to be at ease. Dutchy was still rooted in place, clearly shocked.

"'ave a seat, yuh, plenty a' room," One Lung Pete said, motioning to the bench across from his side of the table. I pushed Dutchy in and then squished myself next to him so I had the outside. "Jaysus," he said, looking at me and shaking his head fondly, "Iven't seen ya since-"

"Yeah, it's been awhile," I interrupted, and he nodded, muttering to himself.

"Who ya got heah?" he asked, tipping his stein in Dutchy's direction and then taking a long draught of whatever it held.

"This is Dutchy," I said, giving Dutch a clap on the back. "He's an old friend, and I'm helping him out. It's his first time in the Dark, you know."

"A first timer!" One Lung Pete crowded, slamming his stein down on the tabletop. It groaned a little in protest. "I'll be. Goddamn, boy! Welcome!"

"T-thanks," Dutchy stammered. One Lung Pete winked at him and then turned back to me, apparently losing interest.

"What brings ya ta these pahts, Race?" he asked, settling back. "Last I knew ya was gone fer good, yessuh."

"Like I said, I'm helping him out. And we're here to ask for your help, too."

"Figgered as much." He looked back at Dutchy. "Well, boy? Whatsit? Can't let yer friend heah do all the talkin."

"Um," Dutchy started, trying not to look to me for help. "Um, elixirs. We need elixirs," he said quietly.

"Speak up! Can't heah a goddamned thing."

"Elixirs! We need elixirs."

"Well shoah, what kind? And what foah?"

"Um, a Cure."

"His Love has the Fever," I explained.

"No shit," said One Lung Pete. "An' why's that?"

I shrugged. I couldn't say much, not when Dutchy was sitting right there, because I hadn't told him what Swifty had talked to me about. "We're not sure. I guess he got himself involved in something he shouldn't have."

One Lung Pete looked to Dutchy for confirmation, Dutch just shrugged.

"Aintcha been ta Sophie? You know Sophie?"

"Of course I know Sofia," I said. "Her shop was burned down. Didn't you hear?"

"Suppose not," he said, looking troubled. He brightened up a bit, and said, "Shoah sounds like fun. Count me in. Summin ta drink?"

"Alright, something light," I agreed, and kicked Dutchy under the table so that he nodded as well. One Lung Pete smiled, pleased, and called someone over. While they were talking, I leaned over to Dutchy.

"He'll help," I told him, "but we do need to humor him, we can't rush him, so just hang out and be patient, okay?"

"Alright."

"Gad, it's been awhile," One Lung Pete said, smiling at me. "'ow longsit been, Race?"

"Um, maybe a little over a year?" I said.

"Seems like longer. What happened, anyways? Heah I thought you was goin up the road a piece n' then you never come back. Had ta get the story from all ovah."

"Yeah, sorry about that," I said, already dreading the questions I knew this would inspire in Dutchy. "I left in a hurry. Guess I didn't have time for goodbyes."

"No mattah, no mattah. Jeezum, I remember you and that Swifty made quite a mess, yessuh." Here he paused and chuckled, light laughter that quickly turned into coughing. When he regained control and could speak again, his voice was a little raspy. "And nevah cleaned up aftah yaself, nosuh." He chuckled again.

"I guess we thought you guys would do a better job," I said, and attempted a smile of my own. It didn't go so well.

"Ayuh," he said, studying me, noticing that fake smirk. "Wicked sorry 'bout that, ya know. She was a saint, that'un, an absolute saint."

I nodded. Our drinks arrived, so I was able to busy myself with that for a few moments while he turned reflective. Dutchy took a sip of his, some sort of pale ale, and grimaced. After a second or two, he took another. The stuff was bitter, but all right. Hopefully it wasn't toxic.

"Have you seen Swifty recently?" I asked.

"Nah, well, once 'r twice. 'e's lost. 'spect 'e don't fancy you too much either, eh?"

"No, not really," I admitted.

"Hrm. Yuh, well, you boys finish up them beahs an' we'll see what we can do 'bout them potions."

"Thanks, Pete," I said. Dutchy echoed this, and One Lung Pete waved them off.

"Jus' 'elpin a friend, we'll see 'ow we do," he said.

Once we had finished our drinks, One Lung Pete led us out a door behind the bar that I had never noticed before. From there, we walked a winding, uphill path that eventually spit us out on the surface of the Dark and in a section of the city that I was only vaguely familiar with. This was where Pete's laboratory was, a place I had only visited a few times.

He slid open the huge metal door to a big, flat roofed, warehouse looking place, and ushered us in with a quick look up and down the street. There wasn't much light inside, lending a sort of dusky, dusty atmosphere to the place, but it was bright enough to make out general shapes and figures. Each corner of the ground floor of the building was devoted to one aspect of his work, everything spilling into the each other in dangerous disarray. Every once in awhile a shadowy figure passed from one corner to another, or across the wide, empty space in the middle of everything. One Lung Pete paused next to us and surveyed his lab with a satisfied smile.

"We've grown a mite," he said.

"I see that," I said, though I couldn't really tell the difference. More mess, maybe.

"Thisaway," he said, and led us to one of the areas, which was at least a little more organized than the others. As we approached, I could see why. It consisted of several large shelving units like giant bookcases that reached high enough to require the use of a ladder. They stretched down the width of the floor and about half the length. Filling the shelves were thousands and thousands of bottles of all different shapes and colors. It was where he housed all of his finished products.

"Now," said One Lung Pete, stopping before one of the cases with his hand on the ladder that leaned against it. "What can I do ya foah?"

Dutchy quickly took out the black book, and the papers that were tucked inside, and handed them over. One Lung Pete cleared his throat and held the papers at arms length, scanning down the list and mumbling to himself as he went. Then, without another word, he handed the papers back to Dutchy, grabbed the ladder, carried it about five yards to the right, placed it down, climbed up about halfway, rooted around for a second, found something, climbed down, cleared a space on a big butcher block table near where we stood, and set the bottle in the space. He repeated this process three times more, all the while talking to himself. Then he stopped, staring at the cases and tapping his chin. There were four small bottles on the table. If I remembered correctly, we needed five.

One Lung Pete pondered the shelves for a minute more, then strode off to find one of his helpers, his heavy boots echoing in the hushed area. They conversed for a few minutes, Pete gesturing wildly while the other man just shrugged and motioned toward the door. Finally, Pete returned to us and just shook his head.

"Sorry, boys. Thought I had it all, but they's this one, no one knows where it's gone ta."

"It's ok," I assured him. "Having four is a lot better than having none."

"Yuh, suppose it is." He packed the bottles into a cloth bag and handed it to Dutchy. "Take care."

"I will," said Dutchy.

One Lung Pete led us back to the door and stood just inside as we emerged back onto the street. "Now, take care a' yaselfs," he called. I waved, but found myself at a bit of a loss. We had four of the five elixirs, sure, but we needed five. Besides, I felt like I hadn't had a chance to properly thank Pete. It was true that we were friends, but not like Swifty and I were friends, or like Sofia and I were friends. Pete hadn't gotten this far by doing favors.

I had some coins, I had a few cigars, and I had those seeds that I was supposed to give to Sofia. Then it hit me; Snoddy's gift. "Wait!" I shouted to Pete, who was about to close the door. He halted and watched me closely. I pulled that pouch out of my shirt and hefted it in my hand for a second, then tossed it to Pete, who caught it expertly and took a quick peek inside. Immediately, his face split into a grin, and he beckoned us over.

"Now where'd ya getcher hands on these ones?" he asked, shaking the pouch around so that he could see all of the buttons. "Nice, very nice."

"The Other side, of course," I said, and smiled as well. "Good, yeah?"

"Great. N' listen, 'bout that otha potion. Seein as how if'n I can't make it, I can find it, you jus hang tight and we'll get 'er to ya somehow."

"Thanks, thanks a lot," I said, and shook his hand. "We'll see you soon."

"Yuh, bye now."

The door slid closed with a screech and I turned my smile on Dutchy.

"All of this, for just… buttons?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Hey now, don't judge," I said. We struck out in the direction I was pretty confident we would find the Brick. "Remember your lesson with Swifty? Remember the smuggling? I'm telling you, it's the little things. A little goes a long way, right?"

"I guess."

"Right. See, I knew he was holding out on us. Just because he didn't have that last elixir didn't mean he couldn't get ahold of it somehow. But he wanted – needed – payment. It's just that he wasn't going to ask outright for it."

"Alright. That's reasonable. Then, where'd you get those buttons?"

"Someone gave them to me. I didn't understand why at the time. I guess he just figured they would come in handy." I shrugged. "Sometimes things just work out that way. Come on. Let's get back."

We ducked our heads against the persistent drizzle and worked our way home in that familiar silence. The street was thick with unfriendly faces. Dutchy remembered what he had been taught and kept his head down and let the bag swing loosely at his side, as if it were full not of the key to Specs' health, but of rotten fruit, or broken glass.

Bumlets and Boots were as we had left them, both eager to hear about our progress. Bumlets left soon after, explaining that he had a date to keep, and the three of us went down to the Brick's tavern to find something to eat. We sat together, the elixirs safe between Dutchy's feet, and I let myself relax. I closed my eyes, and slouched down, and let my mind wander.

I had spent almost all of my time on the Other side making myself forget, but now that I was back in the Dark, neglected memories were constantly pounding at my head, begging me to sort them out. For once, for just a little while, I let them in, and I thought of Swifty, and I thought of her, and I thought about what Pete had said. _He's lost._ I thought, and the noise around me faded away as I drifted away in my own little world.

Then Boots shook my arm so he could share something that he had noticed, and as I listened, I realized that I already had enough to think about. That, for once, Swifty was wrong. I could not let myself live in the past – even in my thoughts.


	14. ruin

**note: **After this chapter, things really start to pick up. I think. Thanks to the readers and reviewers and "cheers!" to everyone else participating in 1kaday. We're pretty awesome.**  
**

**fourteen: **ruin

* * *

After dinner, we headed back up to our room. I unlocked and opened the door and froze in the middle of a sentence. Standing at the window, with her back to us, was Sofia. She turned once she heard us come in and gave me a fleeting smile.

"Hi, so sorry to bother you like this," she apologized.

"It's no problem," I assured her. "I was just a little surprised. Is something wrong?"

"No, no, I am okay. I have… I need a favor."

"Okay."

"I need you to go to my shop. I cannot. I need you to go and to find something, I am certain it is there."

"There wasn't much left," I said. "Really."

"I know, I know, but I am certain it is there. It is small. It is there. It is just my locket. Please, I need it."

"Okay, of course," I said, not bothering to confer with the others. They were both in love with Sofia so I had no doubt that they would have readily agreed. Besides, we already owed Sofia big time. This was the least we could do. It didn't seem very hard, and if we couldn't find her locket, at least we would have tried.

"You know what to look for?" she asked me, looking relieved.

"Yes, I remember it," I said. It used to be that she never took it off. She had been so covered up in blacks and shadows recently that I hadn't even noticed that it had been absent.

"Thank you, thank you. And you have more, _verdad_?"

Dutchy came forward and offered her the cloth bag.

"We got elixirs from One Lung Pete," he exclaimed. "Not all of them, but almost all." She took it without looking inside. "Good," she said. "I'm sorry, I cannot stay. And I cannot come back to this place again – a third time – I'm sorry. I have to go. I will bring this to Swifty."

She brushed by us, squeezed my arm, and disappeared down the hall. I leaned out into the hallway to watch her go, then shut the door and shrugged.

"Well. I wasn't quite expecting that."

"At least we don't have to keep track of the elixirs," said Dutch, sitting with a sigh.

"Are we really gonna go an' find her locket?" asked Boots. "Sounds… small."

"It's worth a shot," I said. "We'll go, sift through some of the ash, you know, look around. Dutch, you probably remember. People did a number on that place. There's nothing left. Hopefully the ruins are at least still there."

"What does that mean?" asked Dutchy. "People would have built over it already?"

"Well, soon enough. The only empty real estate in that part of the world is haunted, and even those places aren't abandoned for long. It's prime space."

"Will she ever get it back?"

I could only shrug. "I have no idea, honestly. Right now she's on the run, but she doesn't even seem to know who she's running from. All she knows is that someone is out to get her. She's not really in a good position to set herself up and get her name back out there. As far as most people know, she's dead, burned beyond recognition. And right now it's in her best interest to stay that way."

"I hope she gets it back," Dutchy said after a moment.

"Me too," I agreed.

"Ya, me too, she's a nice lady," said Boots, who was back at his normal position on the floor, against the wall. "You know, I don't know many ladies, or at least nice ones," he continued, screwing his face up as he thought. "There weren't many girl orphans at the Madame's."

I couldn't argue that. There were plenty of women in the Dark, but very few of them seemed to find their way in when they were young. "Is the Madame a nice lady?" I asked, humoring him. "She gave us some nice tea."

But Boots' mouth shut up tight and he shook his head quickly. "No," he said firmly. "No, I didn't much like it there."

I resisted the urge to exchange a glance with Dutchy, who I knew was just as intrigued as I was.

"Why not?" Dutch asked.

"Her. She's scary. And the other boys, the older boys, they're mean. I didn't want to go there. I got caught, in Brooklyn."

Now I was really curious, but poor Boots looked so distressed that I didn't have the heart to ask any more questions.

"That's too bad," I said instead, lamely. "But at least you're out now, and you get to start the next part of your life, right? Do you have any idea where you're going?"

He thought about this for a second. "I have a name," he said. "But I dunno. She didn't tell me. She doesn't tell people."

"Ah," I said, yawning. Bed was starting to sound pretty good; it was still early, but getting darker. The worst part about time in the Dark was that it was so unreliable. Night sometimes decided to fall a few hours earlier, or later, than you expected, and tended to mess with even the best laid plans. In this case, it worked out pretty well. If I fell asleep now, I would get plenty of rest before we had to wake up in time to get to Sofia's and find her locket in the morning. I didn't think I would have any trouble falling asleep. I was always tired at the beginning of the day, and its end was no better; just the constant stress of getting things done and connecting with people and keeping track of everyone wore me out pretty easily. I grinned a little as I wondered if this was what mothers on the Other side felt like all the time. I decided that it was probably just a little different.

"I don't know why I'm so exhausted," Dutchy said, echoing my thoughts. "But I'm hoping that we're going to bed."

"We're going to bed."

Boots, I saw, curled up with his pillow, was already asleep. Dutch turned out the light and I stretched out flat on my bed, thinking about One Lung Pete and the buttons. No doubt he would take a handful for himself to use with his outlandish wardrobe, but, more importantly, he could use the remainder like we might use cash on our side. Buttons were just one of those things; everyone needed them, but they were scarce, or, at least, ridiculously priced. I just hoped that he could in fact find that last elixir – and fast.

* * *

"This is going to be impossible."

Standing in the middle of the burned out husk that had once housed Sofia's store, I had to agree with Dutchy, no matter how pessimistic he was acting. Boots was crouched down a few yards away, sifting through the ashes and sneezing when the fine powder got in his nose or eyes. I could already tell that the only way we would leave this place would be completely gray and grimy.

"Well," I said, turning in a circle, "then I guess we should start looking."

"What exactly are we looking for, again?"

"Okay, but this is the last time I'm describing it. There should be – hopefully – a chain, small silver links, and the locket itself is silver and oval shaped. That should be all you need to know to find it, but in case you, I don't know, find a box full of lockets in the ashes, it has a flower engraved on the front. I think it's some kind of rose."

Dutchy sighed and shuffled off to the opposite corner, where there were some larger, charred remains. Boots continued his own search in earnest, he was still excited after having been taken through the same street Dutch and I had walked our first day in the Dark. He'd loved the trees and the whitewashed buildings, just as everyone did. I think they gave you the sense that this was a magical place, and a good place, where good things could happen. Luckily, Elke had been cut down from the giant tree that grew in the center of the square. I was happier with Boots' image of this place untainted, as mine had once been. For Dutch, though, it would never be that way. He didn't see any magic in the street or the square, just the blacks and grays of the fire's aftermath.

I stayed in place in the middle of the ruins, trying to build in my mind what it had looked like before. The door had been built of driftwood, who knows where she'd found that, and fitted only irregularly in the actual doorway. When it was opened, it hit a small, copper bell that rang once and ensured that Sofia's smiling face would be ready to greet you once you stepped into the shop.

It was small, but neat. The light inside was golden and dusty and made you feel like you were inside an old, yellowed photograph. There was barely any sun in the Dark, so I don't know how she achieved that effect, but I never bothered to ask; I just enjoyed it.

The shop was a simple square shape, with a wooden counter at the back. From the ceiling rafters (also wood, and everything bone dry, probably explaining why the fire took so quickly) hung drying branches and bunches of every herb and plant imaginable. The sides of the shop were covered in shelves that held more plants, bottles – some full, some empty – books, and other odds and ends. Behind that counter in the back was a door that led to the room (or rooms) where Sofia did her actual work and kept most of her products safe. She did a lot of work, but preferred to be out front, chatting with her customers and dusting things on the shelves, gliding around in those bright dresses of hers.

Then there was Elke. Tall, slender, and dark, Elke was a Dominican girl who had been kidnapped from her island and brought to New York, where she had run away and accidentally run into the Dark. She worked for Sofia, mostly in the back because she was so shy, and the two were like sisters, always giggling and conspiring together in their rapid-fire Spanish.

Standing in that shell of a memory, facing where the counter would have been, I felt for the first time a sharp sadness about Elke's misfortune. She had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. I still wasn't clear whether or not it was my fault, but I felt bad enough anyway. I found myself hoping, needlessly, that she had been happy with Sofia, and that she had died painlessly.

"Sorry, are you going to help us with this?" Dutchy asked, irritated, returning to my spot. His face was smudged and his hair a mess. "You're the one who agreed, after all."

"True," I said, and turned away to root around near the street. Dutch had been right; this was close to impossible. Not only was the locket very small, but it was silver. That meant that it was near the same color as the very debris we were searching in. This was not exactly a good situation we had promised ourselves into.

So I crouched down, still in my same spot, and scanned the ground. There were tiny pieces of broken glass everywhere. All of the larger pieces, and the colored pieces, had long since been stolen to use for any of a million purposes. The same could be said for most of the nails and screws and other bits and pieces that would usually be left over. I had a hard time believing that the locket would still be here, days after the fire. Anyone who would dig around for a few nails would grab something like that the first chance they got.

And why hadn't she been wearing it, anyway?

There was a sudden crash and I looked up to see Boots falling on his backside, surprised after a delicate pyramid of beams and boards had toppled over and almost crushed him. He remained frozen for just a second, then lunged forward and grabbed something from the pile. My heart leapt to my throat and stayed there as he got to his feet and trotted over to me, not even bothering to brush himself off. It couldn't be.

"This must be it," he said proudly, shoving his hand in front of my face. "Look. It's silver – or it should be, it's a little dusty – and it's an oval, and there's some sort of flower on the front." He tilted his hand so the little locket slid from his palm. Instead of falling back into the ashen mess on the ground, it hung suspended in mid air. A closer look revealed that its chain was still attached, and wrapped around two of Boots' fingers.

"Wow," was all I could think of to say. "Uh… wow. Boots, how the hell did you find that?"

He just shrugged as if it were no big feat. By this point Dutchy had realized that something was up and ambled over to join us.

"It was stuck between two pieces of wood, I could see the chain sticking out. When I tried to get to it, everything fell down, but luckily I still found it."

I shook my head in disbelief. This kid had to have the best goddamn eyesight in the city. He handed the locket to me, eyes still shining with pride, and I dropped it into one of the pockets in my trousers, checking carefully to make sure there were no holes.

"This is crazy," I said, putting a hand on Boots shoulder and giving him a grateful smile. "This is really amazing. Dutch, can you believe-" I stopped mid sentence because Dutchy wasn't listening. In fact, he wasn't even with us anymore. He was back where Boots had found the locket, stumbling over the blackened wood, seemingly oblivious to all the obstacles in his path. I looked down at Boots, who just shrugged.

"DUTCH!" I called, but there was no answer, or even recognition that he'd heard my shout. "Come on," I said to Boots, and we went after him, doing our best to pick around all the debris. Dutchy was just pushing things out of his way with his hands and shoulders, which by now were absolutely covered in soot and grime. He never once turned around, although we were making a huge commotion while we followed him. It wasn't until I caught up and grabbed his arm at the elbow that he showed any sign of noticing our presence. He spun around and his eyes were wide, his face white – this I could tell even under all the dirt. I recognized this look.

Boots caught up a second later and paused with his hands on his thighs, coughing. Dutchy blinked down at him, then back at me.

"Let me go," he said, his voice a little hoarse and not at all convincing. Okay, maybe he wasn't entirely with us yet. He looked back toward the way he was heading and pulled weakly at my grip. "Please…"

Boots recovered from his spell and frowned at me, thoroughly confused.

"Dutchy," I said gently, not at all sure about how to approach this. I decided to take an educated guess. "That's not Specs. Specs is at the Lodging House, remember? Specs is in bed. He can't get up."

"I… he…" His voice was barely above a whisper, but there was a desperate, pleading quality to it that was extremely unnerving.

"Dutchy," I said, more firmly this time, "we have to go. We need to go see Swifty. We need to go see Sofia. Specs is fine."

"Specs… he needs me to help him. I have to help him."

"We are helping him, Dutch. Come on. Let's go."

"Yeah, Dutch," Boots chimed in nervously. "We, uh, have to go. Let's go!"

Dutchy didn't agree, but he did allow himself to be led away. Maybe it was just my imagination, but all the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as we left that place. I did not look back, and I turned my head so I didn't have to see that big, awful tree, either. We walked on toward Swifty's house, my hand still at Dutchy's elbow, and I found myself hoping fervently that we would never have to return to that place. There was no magic there, not anymore. There was nothing but ashes and stone and tainted memories.

* * *

Dutchy was back to normal by the time we knocked on Swifty's door, but he was strangely silent and brooding. I decided not to push the issue of what had happened, even though I was incredibly curious. Boots, thankfully, took his lead from me and didn't mention anything, either. He was almost hopping with excitement when we reached Swifty's house. He couldn't wait to show off the fact that he had been the one to find Sofia's locket and complete what I'd thought had been an impossible task. I was still pretty impressed about that fact, and, oddly enough, even a little proud. What can I say; the kid was growing on me.

Swifty opened the door almost right away and ushered us in, stealing a quick glance at the street outside before he joined us in the hall. That's when he got a good look at us, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"You know," he said wryly, "Sofia told me about her little 'favor,' but hell I didn't expect you guys would actually do it. Guess so! Umm… just don't sit on the couch, okay?"

"_Ay,_ Swifty, you could at least give them the bath, no?" Sofia's sweet voice called from the main room. We moved in to greet her as a group and even she had to stifle a giggle once she saw us. "Oh, boys," she smiled. "_Perdòn,_ maybe I forgot about the… about this?"

"Ashes," Swifty said, still grinning widely. "They're ashes, and you certainly did not forget, you sly fox."

This time Sofia actually did giggle. Then she clapped her hands together happily, eyes bright. "You found it," she said breathlessly.

"I found it," Boots said, stepping forward with his chest pushed out.

"How'd you know?" Dutchy asked, finally coming out of his stupor.

"You all had smiles, I could tell," she said and winked at Boots. "You were trying to hide them."

"Here." I took the locket out of my pocket and held it up by the chain as Boots had done. It swayed and twisted, glinting in the gray light from the window. Then I dropped it into Sofia's waiting hand and she brought it to her lips and closed her eyes.

"You all probably want to get brushed up a bit," Swifty said, clearing his throat. "Come on, through the kitchen, I'll show you."

We left obediently and before the kitchen door swung closed behind me, I glanced back over my shoulder, and Sofia was still in the same position, rocking back on her heels ever so slightly and looking so relieved. It made me happy to see her like that, and I was so glad that we had gone back to the shop, and so glad Boots had been with us. I let the door close, then, and started looking forward to cool water and clean skin.

* * *

I sat, completely relaxed, in one of the chairs with a bowl of soup in my hands and my hair drying by the heat of the fire. Although the physical toil of the day was over, I was preparing myself for a long night. Sofia was looking over the ingredient list again. She seemed troubled. It was looking like we would have a lot to discuss.

"One Lung Pete will get you the last elixir?" she asked Dutchy. Dutchy looked at me.

"He'll get it," I assured her. "He said he'd get it and find me."

"Okay. Soon?"

"Soon."

"These other things. You said before you did not know the meaning of everything?"

"Yeah. Spell casting isn't really… my strong point."

The smile that flickered on Sofia's face was more polite than anything. "Maybe I can help explain," she said. "Some things in here, they are different than what I have used. It will still work. Maybe it will work better." She shrugged. "Some are the same. Do you understand what are these 'effects'?"

"I… I think so," Dutchy said slowly, hesitantly. "We need something from the afflicted, that's Specs. And from the caster, that's… well, we don't know who that is yet."

"Very good," Sofia said with a nod. "These effects are needed in the Cure because they are used in the casting of the curse. Whoever did this, he knew Specs somehow – " here Swifty and I exchanged glances – "or he had someone else go and take something from Specs."

"Something like what?" Dutchy asked, starting to get lost. "What, um, what exactly would an effect be?"

"Anything," she said with a shrug. "Something that is attached to that person physically… like blood, or sweat… or mentally… something that has a connection, that means something. Like a photograph, or a favorite hat."

"Or a locket," Swifty said pointedly.

"Or, a locket."

"So we need to get something from Specs," I said. "Okay, that's easy enough, except I don't really want to go all the way back for a five minute errand."

"You may not have a choice," Sofia said.

"We saw Bumlets yesterday," I sighed. "I wish I had put two and two together, we could have asked him to do something about it."

"Well I guess you'll just have to keep that in mind the next time one of your 'Brotherhood' friends show up," Swifty said, not bothering to mask his mocking tone.

"Wait," said Dutchy. "Wait. We… I don't think we have to send anybody anywhere." He was seated in the chair opposite mine, and now he turned so he looked Sofia square in the eye. "This effect…" he began haltingly. His cheeks darkened a little, and he continued to stammer, "would… uh, would hair work for that?"

"_Claro que sì_," Sofia said, at first a little confused, but then simply amused as she noticed Dutchy's blush. "Yes, of course. Let me see."

Dutchy pulled a folded white handkerchief out from his vest and stood to hand it to Sofia. He remained standing while she put her soup bowl on the floor and gently opened the kerchief on her lap. Inside and carefully preserved was a lock of Specs' curly brown hair.

"I know you did not know you would need it," Sofia said slowly, not taking her eyes off the hair, "but this was a very smart thing to do."

"I, uh…" Dutchy cleared his throat and sat back down once he realized that Sofia was nothing going to give the object back to him. He sounded like he needed to explain his actions, but he really didn't, not in this company. Boots, maybe, was lost, but he would not ask questions. Swifty and I, we understood. Swifty was watching Dutchy thoughtfully, but he never said a word.

Sofia refolded the kerchief and passed it to Swifty. "Will you please put this with the other things?" He nodded and stood. "And maybe you can give Boots one of the beds?" The poor kid was asleep on the floor in front of the fireplace. "When you come back down, we have some work to do." I couldn't help but sigh, if only inwardly. My prediction had been correct.

Once Swifty had left, Sofia turned her gaze on me, and I realized that there was another thing I had not predicted – in fact, I kept on forgetting about it. But there was no backing out now.

"Race," she said, "I believe you have something to tell Dutchy, _verdad_?"

"Yes," I said, and looked at an expectant Dutchy. "I found out something about Specs that may help us figure out who sent him the Fever, but it won't help much."

"What do you know?"

"Only a little. Specs came here by accident. He ran into Swifty, who explained where he was. And then… well, Specs worked a little for Swifty. He smuggled things, helped him out. But one day he stopped doing that, just stopped. And he did something – see, still no one knows what – to anger someone, and that's probably why he has the Fever."

Dutchy took all this in, simply nodding. He only had one question.

"Why didn't Swifty tell me?"

I looked at Sofia, but she didn't give an inch.

"I guess he didn't really know how you would react. If you would think he was responsible, or something."

"Isn't he?"

"Honestly? It's hard to say. But… no, I don't think so. And besides, Swifty was just like us in the beginning of this whole thing, not really sure what the hell was going on in general. Remember the talk we had, about telling people things?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, I guess it's like that. Sometimes when you have information, you keep it to yourself until you know exactly what it means, or it's useful."

"Alright…" said Dutchy, still unsettled. "But… still… why didn't Swifty tell me? Why are you telling me right now? He was in this room, I mean, he had lots of chances."

At this point I gave up, because I agreed with Dutchy. "I don't know," I admitted. "Why don't you ask him?"

Dutchy nodded slowly, but I knew he would never bring it up. Right then Swifty came back from upstairs, though the bastard had probably been listening in at the door the entire time. Dutch was sitting back in his chair, deep in thought. Swifty had been right, he hadn't known anything about "this side" of Specs. Either Specs was a really good actor, or Dutchy was just plain oblivious. Most likely, it was a combination of the two.

Swifty reclaimed his seat on the couch and looked at Sofia. "Ok," he said, "what do we have?"

"We know a few things, now," she said. "I know that Fever is very, very difficult to give to someone, especially someone on the Other side. It had to come from a high up, from a warlord. We know that Specs was involved with someone, but we don't know who. So, what we know is that Specs was involved with a warlord."

"And now we have to figure out which?" I guessed.

"Exactly."

"Sounds like fun," I said. They both ignored me, and Dutchy was still, and would remain, on some other planet.

"It should be nothing," Swifty said, speaking only to Sofia, which irked me. "All we have to do is make a list and then narrow it down."

"_Vale_, true, let's do that."

There was a pause; no one wanted to be the first to speak.

"Um," I said, "you mentioned the Iceman the other day. Could he-"

"No," Swifty said. "No, Specs definitely wasn't working with the Iceman. You can't just walk up to him and get a job. Have you seen that guy's workers? They're trained for like a year before they're allowed to do any of the big stuff."

"Alright," I said, and tried again. "How about the Twins?"

"Gone," Sofia said.

"Gone?" I asked incredulously. "What? How – when?"

"_You_ have been gone awhile," Sofia said pointedly. "Many things have changed. The Twins are gone. Someone separated them – "

"Grueler," Swifty supplied.

"_Sì_, Grueler, he separated them. When one was killed, the other went down too. Now Grueler has the island."

"That whole fiasco was happening about when Specs disappeared," Swifty explained. "So, it couldn't have been either of them."

"Okay, then who does that leave us with?'

"I've heard that Heron has been bedridden since September. He couldn't do it and I doubt those under him would be dealing with it," said Swifty. "Sofia, what do you know about el Roque?"

"I know what you know. All his strength, it is here-" she flexed her arm – "if he had problems with Specs, he would kill Specs. There would be no curses, no spells."

I wracked my brain trying to think of anyone else Specs could have been involved with. And then I realized, and they realized, and we just sat without any words between us. I guess it was Swifty who finally said something aloud.

"Brooklyn."

"Shit."


	15. stakes I

**note: **to everyone sticking with this story... I love you. And hooray for Spring!**  
**

**fifteen: **stakes I.

* * *

_I wracked my brain trying to think of anyone else Specs could have been involved with. And then I realized, and they realized, and we just sat without any words between us. I guess it was Swifty who finally said something aloud.  
"Brooklyn."  
"Shit." _

* * *

By this point, Dutchy had realized we were talking about something important and had finally decided to join us.

"Brooklyn?" he repeated, not understanding the significance.

"Brooklyn," I said flatly.

"Shit?"

"Shit."

Sofia looked down at her hands. Swifty and I exchanged an apprehensive glance.

"Are you guys going to clue me in or what?" asked Dutchy, dragging his chair closer to the couch. "Come on, what's the big deal?"

"Brooklyn had to have done this," I said.

"Then we know! Isn't that good?"

Another glance in Swifty's direction, and this time our gaze held. There was an unsteady trust in that look, like a momentary truce. I like to think that maybe he realized right then that we would have to work together to get anything done. Whether or not he liked it or he wanted to, he'd have to put up with me, and I with him. I broke the gaze first because I knew he never would.

"Guys?" Dutchy was watching us skeptically. He knew something had passed between us. I cleared my throat and met his eyes cautiously.

"Yeah, you're right. We do know."

Dutchy cocked his head imploringly, but I didn't have any more words for the moment. He looked at each of us in turn but found nothing. Sofia was still staring at her hands, and Swifty was staring at her in turn. It had to be frustrating for Dutch, but honestly I just didn't really feel like it was my place to say anything.

"Okayyy…" he continued, trying to help us along. "So… we have to get something from Brooklyn. How do we get through to Brooklyn?"

"You **don't** get to Brooklyn," Swifty said firmly.

Dutchy was a little taken aback at the flat-out refusal.

"Why?" he asked, this time directing the question to me. "Why, who's in Brooklyn?" Still no one answered. "It's not Spot, is it?" he frowned.

"No," I said, "it's not Spot." After a second's thought, I added, "No, it would be a lot easier if it were Spot."

Swifty finally took pity on our clueless friend. "It used to be Spot," he explained. "It's… kind of a long story."

Dutchy just threw up his hands, exasperated with our reluctance. "Try me," he said, "I've got all the time in the world!"

To everyone's surprise, it was Sofia who next spoke. "Spot was the King of Brooklyn for fifty years," she said, her voice sounding distant. She was still fixed on her hands.

"Fifty y- wait is this the same Spot I know?" he interrupted, frown deepening.

"Yep," I said, and let it sink in.

"Fifty years is a long, long time in the Dark," Swifty added. "Kind of like… well, kind of like an eternity."

Dutchy thought about this and probably remembered the discussion we'd had earlier about time, because he nodded at first, but then realized something was still amiss. "But Spot is like sev-"

"Fifty years," Swifty said again. Dutchy chewed on his lower lip as he tried to make it out, but soon gave up and didn't raise any other objections. When he realized that Sofia wasn't going to continue on her own, he asked, "But he's on the Other side – our side – now?"

"_Sì_," she said, distracted. "Ah… yes."

"Spot's only been living permanently on our side for a few years," I told him.

"He was exiled," Swifty said. "He's not allowed to come back to the Dark."

Dutchy looked to me for confirmation; I shrugged. "He was powerful – real powerful. He was overthrown but that doesn't mean he lost his power. You know how intimidating he is even in the Brooklyn we know. Even though what does he do there but head up an unruly gang of newsboys, right?"

"He's a character," Swifty said, grinned, rested a hand on Sofia's knee. "He's a force." I wondered just who he was talking to.

I waited for Dutchy to take all this in before going on.

"He can't come back. The man who has the territory now, he's real paranoid, he thinks Spot is just around the corner waiting to take his land back. He's real paranoid, so he's unstable, but… he's smart. Really smart. And he's brutal. You'd have to be, to get that far in this system."

"So…" said Dutchy, trying to find the point of my comments.

"So you **don't** get to Brooklyn," Swifty said.

"But we gotta," Dutch said weakly.

"There must be some way," Sofia agreed quietly, and sighed.

"You think so?" Swifty asked sincerely. She shrugged.

"_Creo que_… yes, yes, there must be a way."

Dutchy was still looking a little confused, so I decided to just lay it out for him,

"Okay," I said, turning in my seat so I was facing him square on. He took the hint and shifted to face me as well. "Spot Conlon, King of Brooklyn for fifty years. Swifty was right, it's like an eternity. He was untouchable. Invincible. An institution. But someone got through. Someone – somehow… see, we don't really know how, maybe Spot doesn't even know how, whatever… someone got to him. Someone took him down. Once that someone had grabbed power, he exiled Spot, and Spot hasn't been able to come back in since. I mean, he hasn't tried – at least to my knowledge – but basically he's stuck on our side. And he's really, really, not too happy about it."

"Who kicked him out? Who took the power?"

"We don't really know who he was, before. But now, now he calls himself Brooklyn. Conlon, he was the King of Brooklyn. Some people even just called him Brooklyn, because, like I said, he was an institution. For the longest time, the kid _was_ Brooklyn. Now this new guy, he wants to be Brooklyn. Constantly he worries about living up to Spot's reputation. I mean, the guy's been in charge there for a few years now but he's still unsettled, he's still insecure. So he wants to be called Brooklyn. Well, who is anyone to argue with one of the most powerful figures in the city, right? But it pisses Conlon off, that's for sure. He gets ousted from his own turf and now he's the King of Our Brooklyn, King of crates and hay barges and dirty, stupid boys. I guess I'd be pretty angry, too."

"It's almost a joke," Swifty chimed in bitterly. "Brooklyn… that bastard ain't half the Brooklyn Conlon was.

"That's it," Sofia said, and raised her head. "This is it."

"What?" Swifty and I asked at the same time.

"Conl – Spot. Spot will know. He will know what to do."

Dutchy smiled hopefully but I was still apprehensive.

"Assuming that he even wants to help," I said, "what could he do? He's powerless."

"He's not powerless."

"She's right," Swifty agreed. "Just because he's not back yet doesn't mean he's just sitting on his hands. I bet the little bastard has quite a surprise up his sleeve. He's probably just biding his time."

Sofia nodded slowly. Her right hand clutched at her locket, which was around her neck once more. The motion did not go unnoticed by Dutchy; I could almost feel his burning curiosity. I watched Swifty carefully, trying to decide if he really meant what he said. I wouldn't put it past Spot. After all, Conlon wasn't dead yet – and by all counts, he should have been. If I were Brooklyn, I'd be pretty damn paranoid, too.

"Okay, we'll go," Dutchy said. He looked and sounded confident. Sofia looked to me.

"Antonio?"

"Yeah, we'll go," I said with a shrug. "Why not, right? It's better than going into the Dark Brooklyn." I knew Spot. We got along pretty well, considering that he was this powerful figure and I was just a poor, teenage street rat. I hadn't seen him for a while. He held court in Brooklyn and didn't bother with much else. Maybe Swifty was right; maybe he was busy.

"When can we leave?" Dutchy asked.

"Dunno, where do you guys think we should leave from?" I asked the other two.

"Well, it's not essential that you come out near Brooklyn, really, so I'd play it safe and go with something out of the way," Swifty said. "Maybe, um… Race you're better with this than I am."

"Black's Drop?" I suggested.

"Perfect," said Sofia.

"That's near here?" Swifty asked in spite of himself, surprised.

"Ha, _claro_. You don't get out much, do you?" Sofia teased, but Swifty's answering smile was fake. Sofia noticed and her own smile disappeared immediately from her face.

"That sounds good," I said quickly, then stood and let loose an exaggerated yawn. "If we're leaving tomorrow morning, I should get some sleep." As I stretched my arms out, I felt something poking at my side. I knew it was a cigar, and I had a sudden and intense craving for a smoke. I pulled it out of my shirt and motioned vaguely toward the door, mumbling something about getting some fresh air. Fresh air, sure, but mainly I just wanted somewhere that I could relax and enjoy my cigar without the three others breathing down my neck.

Swifty waved me off, and Dutchy left to go up to bed. Sofia and Swifty looked like they were close to doing the same thing, Swifty was setting up the couch so that he could sleep down there. I left down the hall and closed the big door behind me.

For a minute I just stood looking out at the empty street, but I was still a little tired, so I sat on the stoop and took my time lighting my smoke. Off somewhere in the distance I could hear a repetitive sound like someone hitting metal with metal, over and over. The night was remarkably clear, probably due to all the recent rain, and there was actual moonlight, filtered through gray clouds and smog, that lay softly on the street.

It was kind of nice, and I felt safe being so close to the house. Every once in awhile someone would scurry across the street, hunched down and head low, and disappear into a door or an alley. The stone I sat on was cool and still a little damp. I felt okay, still weary, but okay. We were doing alright, despite everything. All we had to do was hope that Specs could hold on for as long as it took for us to find the other ingredients.

I puffed away and thought about Spot. We had a strange relationship. If he'd stayed in the Dark, we probably never would have met. With him in Brooklyn and myself in Manhattan, I liked to think we were on level ground. It wasn't that way, it would never be, but it was the kind of thought I sometimes entertained. We could catch a show with the guys or play a hand and joke like we were just two normal kids, but we both knew it was just an act. I guess I felt my most comfortable with him when someone else was around, someone like Jack, or Mush. Then we had to pretend, the both of us. And if I said or did something dumb, I could write it off as good acting.

The few times we'd ever been alone together, I was at a loss. I was out of my element. The guy commanded respect, and we weren't close enough that I could get away with showing anything less. Besides, he liked having power over people, he had to be the one on top. I didn't mind feeding that, if only because it was better than the alternative.

Would he help? Could he help? I didn't even know which question was harder to answer. If he really was staging his comeback, he probably wouldn't want us to ruin it. If he was laying low, it would only be because he didn't have any tricks, didn't have any means by which to "get to" Brooklyn.

There was one thing I was forgetting, though. We had the trump card. We had Sofia.

Any further thoughts on that subject were interrupted when I noticed a movement from the corner of my eye. Someone had pressed themselves in the shadows at the side of the building. I gave no sign that I'd seen anything, but now I was alert. I wasn't in the mood to be surprised; I was trying to relax.

Still, whoever it was must have known I'd caught onto them, because in the next moment they stepped fluidly from the darkness and positioned themselves right in front of me, where a little of that moonlight reached.

A silky voice said, "Good news, Higgins."

I stood and tapped the ashes from the end of my cigar to the street. "Oh yeah?" I didn't recognize the voice or the person. It was probably just some runner.

"One Lung Pete wants to meet with you. He says he has what you need." I brightened a little. That was fast. "Will you come?"

"Do I have a choice?"

A pause. "Do you?"

"No," I admitted, already sick of twenty questions. "Lead the way."

He turned and began to walk quickly across the street. I tossed my cigar to the ground and took one last look back at the house before following. I had no idea where I was headed, or why, if Petey had the elixir, he couldn't have just come to Swifty's house in the morning. I just hoped that One Lung Pete had a damn good reason for whatever trouble I was about to get myself into.


	16. stakes II

**note:** I'm still not very happy with this chapter, but I couldn't put it off any longer. Oh well, I just wanted to get past it - now we get into the fun stuff. Haaa.**  
**

**sixteen: **stakes II.

* * *

I followed my liaison through the twisting maze of streets and alleys, not bothering to pay attention to where we were going. I didn't have the energy to keep track of all the turns or the backtracking or the vaguely familiar landmarks. I just walked. We walked quickly – but not too quickly. We looked as though we had purpose, but we weren't in a rush. And we weren't careless. I saw more than one set of glowing eyes from a dark corner waiting for the chance to act on an unsuspecting passerby. I didn't want it to be me.

The man with the silky voice had not said anything to me since I'd agreed to come. He walked a few paces ahead of me, which gave me plenty of room for my thoughts. He never looked back; he must have just assumed that I was still following, or else he had excellent hearing.

I felt a shiver crawl up my spine as we traveled on. The moonlight was not as positive a factor as I'd originally thought; though it served to illuminate everything to a certain extent, it was not pure light like the sun. Instead, it was dim and gray and deceiving, shimmering sometimes like it was temporary. It played with your eyes, played on your face and hands, disappeared behind a cloud and cast strange shadows on the ground. I decided that I didn't like it.

Normally, though, the streets were almost pitch black. Some sections of the city had streetlamps, but whatever wasn't broken was barely ever lit. Sometimes there were lights in the windows, but that was usually just shops or bars. Most houses didn't like to draw attention to themselves and turned down their lights with the setting sun. Swifty, he didn't care, but he could get away with stuff like that.

I shivered again. We were uptown now, passing through a district known for its nightlife. The still night had gradually grown louder until all the noise and raucousness were impossible to ignore. Here, it was brighter, and safer too, believe it or not. Here there were people, mostly stumbling around wasted, but people nonetheless. And I, for one, would take a drunken brawler over a pair of glowing eyes any night.

We made our way away from the lights and sounds until they were distant, until they were more like suggestions of the atmosphere than an actual presence. That's when the man stopped. I was still deep in my thoughts and almost bumped into him. We were on the left side of the street, outside a large, metal door. He hit it three times, pausing between each knock, and then took a step back and waited patiently. He still did not look at me. It wasn't because he had anything against me. He just simply did not care.

Maybe thirty seconds later the door opened a few inches, then all the way. It was dark inside, so dark that I couldn't see who had opened the door, if anyone. The man at my side went in without hesitation, so I just shrugged inwardly and followed.

The door shut behind us with a screech. We walked down a long, still dark hallway, the walls so close that I could touch them with my elbows. It sloped subtly downward, so gently that I didn't even notice it at first. But the air got colder and somehow thicker. As we walked, noise grew, and at last a dim glow appeared at the end of my line of sight. The messenger hurried down a couple stairs – luckily I noticed and so did not fall down them – and then threw open the door from which the light had been emitting. I shielded my eyes against the sudden glare and pulled the door closed as I entered. This wasn't quite what I had been expecting, to say the least.

It was one room – or maybe a couple, my eyes were still adjusting – and it was packed with bodies and light and heat and noise. My man had already disappeared and now I was alone among a crowd of people. Under different circumstances, I may have been amused at the assortment of guests there. Some were dressed to the nines, others looked more like me, casual and dirty. I took off my hat and ran a hand through my hair self consciously. What now?

My answer came in the form of One Lung Pete, who fought through the throngs of people to get over to me. This time I did have to laugh. He was all done up, at least in the sense that he was One Lung Pete. He had this huge black cape that was somehow still intact in one piece and he wore it over a multicolored three piece suit. His hair – which usually looked like it had been cut by a blind man – was actually somewhat presentable, and he was chewing on a wooden pipe, which he took out of his mouth with a flourish so that he could talk to me.

Or, so I thought. Instead he just stopped about a pace away from me and crossed his arms, tapping his chin with the pipe and looking me up and down. I squirmed a little under his gaze and ended up putting my hat back on.

"Wicked glad yuh showed up," he said finally, and stepped forward to give me a good clap on the back.

"Yeah, sure," I said in reply, and found my eyes wandering. "But, what is this? Where am I?"

"Heh, wait 'til you 'ear this," he chuckled. It was kind of a nervous chuckle, and it put me immediately on edge. I crossed my own arms. "N'er mind, n'er mind," he continued, and grabbed my arm. "Come on, I'll introduce you to some a these peoples 'forehand."

I let myself be dragged along, still a little wary of the whole situation. Our first stop turned out to be the bar.

"What'll yuh 'ave?" One Lung Pete asked me, resting an elbow on the bar top.

"Uh, nothing, thanks," I said distractedly. Alcohol was the last thing on my mind, especially when I still didn't know where the hell I was. I had a feeling that getting drunk was not going to solve any problems, not this time.

"Eh, just as well," One Lung Pete muttered, then said, "Find me something cold," to the bartender. He turned around and leaned back and looked out over the mass of people gathered. "Quite a pahty," he said. I nodded. He was less talkative than usual, less animated. He seemed nervous. I had no idea why, and in turn that made me nervous. One Lung Pete turned to accept a pitcher of beer and downed half of it in one draught.

"Where are we?" I asked finally, when it became apparent that he wasn't going to bring the subject up.

"Does it mattah?" he shrugged, motioning around the room with his half empty pitcher. "People are heah, havin a good time. I thought maybe you'd be wanting to'ave a good time."

"Yeah, okay," I said dryly. "Really. Where am I." I wasn't in the mood for games. It was late, I was in a strange place, and I was starting to get a little tired. Maybe I should have had something to drink, after all.

He looked at me, took another sip, looked at me again. People moved all around me, some pressing real close, but no one bothered to stop, no one even seemed to notice that I was there. For once I just blended right in, just like I'd always been trying to. Or maybe I just didn't stand out as much as I felt like I did. Now that I thought about it, One Lung Pete didn't seem to feel too at home, either. He kept looking about himself, and now just took quick sips of his brew as though he expected to be attacked if he let his guard down long enough to tilt the glass to his mouth. It bothered me, if only because nothing bothered Petey.

"D'ya want the good news or the bad news?" he asked after a few minutes. He wasn't meeting my eyes, but that was okay, because I wasn't looking at him either.

"Um, both? Good news first, I guess."

"Alright." There was a pause in which he set his now empty pitcher down on the bar top and then resumed his position from before. "I got ahold of yer potion."

"I figured," I said. Good news. Bad news. Potion. That still didn't explain why he couldn't have waited until morning to deliver the goods to me himself.

"But they's moah," he cut in quickly. "I did some research in my spare time, ya know, looked a few t'ings up. Tell me, does this sound familiar – Lucky feet?"

I froze but didn't let anything show on my face. I was still facing forward but I wasn't really watching the partygoers anymore.

"Maybe," I said casually.

"Ah, 's'what I thought," he said with a quiet chuckle. "Well, listen, I found them, too."

I was surprised. Maybe this night wouldn't turn out to be so bad after all.

"Okay," I said slowly, remembering that there was a 'bad news' aspect to this as well. "Alright, what's the catch?"

"Catch? Right, the catch. Well. That potion you need, well, it's a mite hard to come by, yuh. See, people, they use it for all sorts a things I won't get into heah."

"Get to the point, Petey," I said. "I don't got all night, here." That nervousness was returning.

"Right, right. Race, yer a gamblin' man?" I didn't answer that. "I jus' made a little bet, yuh know."

I closed my eyes. "What was the bet, Pete."

There was a lengthy pause. I didn't bother to open my eyes.

"Well, ah, it'll be a game a cards. Nothin too fancy, see. If yuh win, yuh get them feet you'll be wantin." I waited. "Right, if you lose, well, we lose the potion and the boy."

"You bet one of our ingredients?" I exclaimed, eyes snapping open. Then, "wait, the boy? What boy?"

"The boy, you've a boy with you. The Negro."

My blood chilled. _Boots? He'd put Boots on the line?_

"Yuh, now, before you get all worked up, know that I thought this through and it's a good decision. When you win, yull get another ingredient, yull be on yer way to success!"

"If I win," I said through clenched teeth. Now I turned and faced him and he didn't dare look away. At least I knew why he was so nervous. "Do you even realize that the "Negro" is not even in my charge? Or that… or that he's a boy? You can't just use him as money, you can't… I'm sorry, Pete, I know you were trying to help, but I can't do this. I may be a gambler but I'm not stupid and I couldn't live with myself if I lost Boots. Besides, Dutchy would murder me."

One Lung Pete shrugged. "Well, I guess maybe they's another piece a bad news."

"What now?"

"No backin' outta this one."

"What?!"

"No backin' out! It's done! Ya gotta play. An' ya couldn't leave, anyways." He nodded toward where I had come in. "Jus try. 's'not gonna happen." He was right. There were two large men standing in front of the door that I had come in through, and they were both staring directly at me.

"Oh, looks like it's time to go," Pete said with a light voice. He waved to someone I couldn't see and then signaled that I should follow him. We were headed for a corner of the large room, where more of the same types of men were watching and waiting. Yeah, there were more rooms than this one, all right, and it looked like I was going to be stuck in one of them.

* * *

"Please, sit down."

I had been standing behind the chair that had been designated for me, tapping my fingers on its back nervously. I was staring at the table so I wouldn't be staring at the man who had uttered those words. It just wasn't polite. He was dressed all up in bizarre elegance and I felt pretty small and unimportant in comparison. He was tall and lean, had a head of brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard, both speckled with gray. He wore a monocle, which at the moment was tucked into the breast pocket of his perfectly tailored, maroon velvet suit. A stately cane rested against the table.

The chairs were padded and also velvet, the table cherry. It stood on a large oriental rug. The room, which was a little small and covered in dark wallpaper, was lit only by a couple of candles on the table. They flickered enough to cast strange, dancing shadows and to give the whole atmosphere an almost sinister feel.

I sat, and the man followed suit. I didn't know his name or even the game we would be playing. In the middle of the table was a fresh deck of cards. I had never seen a fresh deck of cards. I eyed it hungrily. One Lung Pete stood near the back of the room, almost out of sight, nursing another pitcher of ale.

All noise from the party outside had somehow been left behind. The man had a nearly full glass of what I assumed was something like brandy in his right hand; I hadn't seen him touch it yet. He leaned back in his chair and studied me silently, I finally raised my eyes and looked back at him with what I hoped was cool indifference.

Whatever degree of casualty I'd managed to reach was immediately lost upon noticing her. I didn't know where she'd come from; it certainly hadn't been the door. She came from the wall as if she were a shadow splitting off and stood at the back of his chair. He didn't bother to look up. I was entranced. She wore a black dress that cut in sharply at the waist with sleeves that covered only a few inches of her shoulders. Her hair, a deep brown, was done up in an impossible fashion and revealed a pale face with sharp green eyes. These eyes looked straight at me and her red lips broke into a sick smile. She let her hands, hidden by long, black kid gloves, rest lightly on the man's shoulders. I forced my gaze to meet his once again.

"You may cut the deck," he said smoothly, amused. I took the cards, which felt slippery and unfamiliar in my hands, and began to shuffle. Nothing fancy, just basic stuff. I wasn't out to impress anyone, in fact I felt like I was hanging off the edge of some imaginary cliff. _Poker face_, I thought. I'd played in shadier situations than this. Right?

"What's the game?" I asked, still shuffling. I wanted the cards good and messy; I wasn't in the mood to be cheated. Not with these stakes.

"Poker," he said. "Five card draw. We will play seven hands. The first to win four hands takes the stakes."

It sounded simple enough. It was strange to be playing without any real betting, even when I was really young we'd at least thrown rocks and acorns into the mix to have something to keep the game going. But I went with it. The man continued to watch me without much interest. If anything, he almost looked bored. He had never asked for my name, nor I his – I got the feeling that it didn't matter, that he sat here most nights and just took the games as they came, making a rich living off of other people's – and his own – gambling habits. I almost smiled when that thought occurred to me. It didn't sound half bad.

I dealt the cards, five each, and set the deck between the two of us. He picked his up and immediately said, "two." He slid his discards across the table and I dealt him two more, then looked at my own cards. I raised an eyebrow – it was my reaction to any hand I was ever dealt, like a trademark back home with the boys. I got teased for it all the time. I remember someone once commenting that if the Lodging House exploded before my very eyes, my only response would be to raise an eyebrow, and then go about my business. So I was good at poker. Really good. And that meant having a stone face I could rely on.

I switched out for one card and looked at my own hand. A straight, seven through Jack. Not bad. Without a word I laid down my cards, and he his. He had a full house, high, too, three queens and two aces. Lucky, I figured, and pushed all the cards to his side of the table. Carefully, I watched him shuffle, keeping an eye out for any slight of hand or deck changes he might try to pull. He was professional, I had to give him that. He shuffled straight faced, still looking at me, still amused, the woman still at the back of his chair, watching idly. I heard One Lung Pete shift behind me but I didn't turn or look back. I wasn't impressed with him, especially if this little series didn't turn out in my favor. Already I was down one, but there were potentially still six hands to be played. He dealt the cards and I picked mine up. Nothing. I had an ace, so I put down the other four cards and looked across to him.

"Four?" I asked. Some people played that if you had an ace, you could trade four cards instead of the maximum three.

"Be my guest," he said with a shrug. His indifference was really beginning to irk me. I dealt myself the cards and he didn't move to stop me. I ended up with pretty much the same hand I'd been dealt, but my only reaction to that bad news was just that raised eyebrow. We laid our cards down again; he beat my ace high with just two pair. I didn't like this, not one bit. It was all dumb luck, it took no skill. I felt like I was being cheated, but that would have been almost impossible, so I just kept quiet and shuffled and dealt the next hand.

I won the third hand with four of a kind and the four with a full house. He took the fifth with three of a kind and I was beginning to think that that the third and fourth hands had just been charity wins, because he didn't look worried at all. Suddenly there was a terrific crash outside the room, loud enough that it gave me a start. He didn't budge, but his lady friend jerked her head around, and after a moment's hesitation, left the room. Now he watched her go, visibly irritated – the first expression he'd shown all night. He had the cards, and I waited for him to deal, but his hands didn't move. I was a little confused, and also then noticed that One Lung Pete was no longer in the room. When had he left?

I cleared my throat, he ignored it. After almost a full minute of that silence, the man still watching the door, I finally said, "Listen, can we get to this? I got somewhere I gotta be."

"I would rather wait," he said without moving. "She… I'm teaching her. I would like her to watch."

It was bullshit, but I was in his house, so to speak, and there wasn't anything I could do about it. I sat back with a grumble and waited. After a few minutes more it became apparent that she would not be returning, so he turned back around and started shuffling. His eyes were narrowed. I raised an eyebrow despite myself. What was the big deal?

One Lung Pete came back in just as I picked up my hand. He nodded to me and remained by the door. I was amazed to see that I had a straight flush in spades, and just waited as the man exchanged three cards and finally threw his hand down with a sour look on his face. There was nothing there. Now we were tied, and he didn't look too happy about it. In fact, he looked almost worried. He kept glancing back at the door, but all he found there was One Lung Pete's unsettling stare.

I took the cards and shuffled quickly. One more hand, the tie breaker, of course it would happen this way. It hadn't crossed my mind much before, but now I remembered exactly what was at stake, and when he pushed his chair back to try and look past Pete, I made a note of the bottom of the deck and dealt accordingly. He was barely even paying attention now.

To say I felt even a twinge of guilt for cheating is an overstatement. I was more annoyed that I hadn't considered doing it earlier. He didn't seem surprised when I laid out a beautiful royal flush, nor did he argue it. He didn't even bother to flip his cards over. He just gave me a tight lipped nod, stood, and stormed out of the room, using his cane to brush One Lung Pete aside. Pete bowed mockingly at his back and then bounded over to pull me out of my chair.

"That was the strangest fucking card game I've ever played," I growled at him. "Was that even a game? What the hell, Petey?"

He just chuckled and pushed me out of the room.

"What now?" I asked. The party seemed to be going on as it had before, which was strange considering that noise I'd heard earlier. I brought that up, too. "Where'd you go, anyway? You weren't responsible for that…"

"Just come with me," he cut me off cryptically, so I shut up and followed. "Now we collect our winnings. Aren't you glad I brought you here?"

I wouldn't be anything, glad or otherwise, until I had the elixir and the other ingredient in my hands. He led me through another door that dumped us outside, no dark hallways involved. We walked about two blocks and then ducked into a small brick building. The woman from before was waiting in a dimly lit kitchen, her arms crossed.

"That was a dirty trick," she told Pete as soon as the door was shut behind us.

"Yuh, an' yer tellin me that what you do ain't no bettah?"

She just shook her head. "If I'd known the stakes I wouldn't have left. Fine, though, it's over. Just take it and leave. He's angry."

"He's dumb," said Pete. She ignored him and shoved a wet paper bag into my hands.

"Just leave," she said. "I don't want to deal with all three of you at once."

I tipped my hat to her and we did just that.

"Git ta bed," Pete said once we were outside. He gave me the last elixir, which was in a small enough bottle for me to pocket. "Unless yuh want me to walk yuh home?"

"No thanks," I said dryly. "I'll manage." But before he left, I took a quick look inside the bag. Two bony, scaly, chicken legs were all that greeted me. "Uh, Pete? I think we got cheated," I said, and showed him the contents.

"Nah," he said. "Them's it. Why, what'd yuh expect? Bunnies?"

I didn't have an answer.

"They's her chickens. Should work."

"What?" Now I was just plain confused.

"Don't you know who that was?"

"The woman? No…"

One Lung Pete shook his head and cackled a little to himself, then started off down the street in the opposite way of where I'd be headed.

"_Pete_!" I called, trying to sound threatening.

He turned and walked backward a few steps, finally yelling back, "Lady Luck!"

I groaned. It just figured.

* * *

By the time I arrived back at Swifty's all the lights were out, but I was able to get in through the door. It was almost daylight, so to speak, and I was dead on my feet. I crept past Swifty, sleeping on the couch, and up the stairs. Boots had taken my bed but I didn't even care, I just found a spot on the floor and fell asleep immediately and was not bothered even by dreams. 


	17. sacrifice

**note: **Another quick update (this chapter was actually finished yesterday), cause it's short. I'm really excited to write the next few chapters (and beyond), so I'll probably be working on that today... as usual, big thanks to everyone that is reading! You guys are kind of awesome... and I promise that some things (backstory stuff) will start getting clearer eventually. One thing, for the record - there has never been anything, nor will there ever be anything between Swifty and Sofia.**  
**

**seventeen: **sacrifice

* * *

It was late morning by the time I woke. I could tell because the room was empty, save for some unexpectedly bright daylight. Apparently the previous night's clarity had managed to last over until morning. Groggily I wondered if you could see the sun outside.

I rose slowly, achy and stiff from sleeping on the hard wooden floor all night. I allowed myself a few minutes sitting on the edge of one of the beds to gather my wits about me and fully wake up, then I shook my head a little and made my way downstairs. Hopefully someone was home and I hadn't been abandoned for the day. I was a little surprised that I hadn't been woken before.

The main room was calm and quiet and so I was a little unprepared for what greeted me as soon as I opened the stair door. The only one around was Dutchy, who was sitting in one of the chairs looking a little uncomfortable. Immediately, I saw why. His shirt was off and his head was tipped back a little so it could rest on the chair back. He was absolutely covered in leeches.

I felt a wave of nausea at the sight and almost turned around to go back up. "Uhhnn?" I said, cautiously taking a seat as far away from him as was possible. I tried to resist counting how many of the dark, fat worms were attached to him and instead focused on meeting his eyes.

"Surprise," he said with good humor.

"You could say that again," I muttered, my mouth turning down. "Dutch what the hell are you doing?"

"Volunteered blood!" he said triumphantly. "Another one of the ingredients, remember?"

I remembered. "Uh, ok, but who said it had to be yours? And that it had to be… ugh…"

"Sofia," he said. "She said mine would be best because, you know, I'm his Love, and because I would be so willing to give it. Volunteered. That's the key word."

"Right… where is Sofia now? And where did you get the leeches?"

He shifted a little, careful not to disturb any of his new friends. "She went out, she left awhile ago. You've been asleep forever, you know that? Boots and Swifty are in the kitchen finding something for lunch. During breakfast we decided to do this whole thing, since you were out cold and we didn't have anything else to do. We tried to wake you."

"Really?"

"Really… it didn't work. Anyway, Swifty went out and found the leeches, no one asked him where, and Sofia got me all set up and then she went to get something; bandages, maybe, I wasn't really listening. She should be back any second."

"Um, sounds good, Dutch," I said, then stood. "I'm, ah, I'm just gonna go see if they need any help in there… ah… shout if you need anything?" I flashed a half hearted smile and ducked quickly into the kitchen, almost knocking Boots over with the door in the process.

"Mornin, sunshine," Swifty said dryly. He was putting together a few thick sandwiches and Boots had been carrying over some cheese.

"That is fucking weird," I said, wide eyed, pointing toward the now closed door. "I did not expect that."

"Well, we _tried_ to warn you," Boots told me, rolling his eyes. "You wouldn't move. But then Dutchy reminded us that we don't need to ask you to do _every_thing – "

I raised an eyebrow, and Swifty snorted.

"- so Sofia was like "alright" and we got started and figured you could catch up… well, if you ever woke up," he added, and beamed innocently up at me. I looked at him skeptically and shook my head.

"Crazy," I muttered. "Damn crazy kids."

"I hope ham is okay," Swifty said.

"Ham is fine," I answered absently. "Where did Sofia go?"

"Out," Swifty said simply, "the real question is, where were you last night?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I said, and grinned a little.

"We'll see," he said. "We'll see once you tell me. Here, take this…" he handed me a plate and then brushed by to open the door. Once he was in the main room he hesitated a little in front of Dutchy.

"Uh… Dutch, what do you want me to do with this?" he asked, indicating the plate with Dutchy's sandwich.

"Um, I guess put it on my lap," Dutch said. I saw now that he had a leech on the back of each hand. Sofia had really gone all out. I smothered my laughter and returned to my spot on the couch, a good distance from the mess. Swifty grabbed the chair next to me and so Boots was left with the seat adjacent to Dutchy, and he didn't look all that pleased about it. Dutchy, meanwhile, though a little uncomfortable, seemed pretty content.

"They've already grown a lot," he told me.

"I bet," I said through a mouthful of ham and cheese.

"Hey, where did you go last night?" he asked, looking up from admiring the worms.

"Jeez, you too? What, is there some curfew in the house I didn't know about? Forgive me. How did you know I left?"

"Well," Swifty cut in, "for one, I was awake when you came back in, no one remembered you coming in earlier after your, uh, 'smoke,' and oh, yeah, we found a gross bag with dried up chicken feet next to your head this morning."

I gulped. "Yeah, about that…" I said.

"It's ok," Swifty continued as if he hadn't heard me, "we took care of it… I threw the bag out the door and the feet into that pot on the stove, they're bony but they should be good for stock."

I paled, stammered, "I… uh… that…"

"Just kidding," Swifty said with a sardonic smile. I busied myself with a huge bite of my sandwich, annoyed but also extremely relieved.

"Good," I mumbled. "That… that would have been bad."

"So what is it?!" Boots exclaimed. He'd probably been wondering all morning.

"Lucky feet," I said. Now it was my turn to be all smug and triumphant.

"You're kidding me," Dutchy said flatly.

"Nope."

Swifty leaned forward, intrigued, and rested his elbows on his knees. "How'd you know?" he asked with a frown. Either he was confused, or he was irked that I'd figured something out without his help.

"I didn't," I admitted. "And I really did just go out for a smoke. It was clear outside last night, too… right, anyway, this guy approached me and said that One Lung Pete wanted to talk to me. That he had something for me. I didn't really know why Petey wouldn't just come himself, but, oh well, so I followed the guy."

"You do realize that goes against everything you've ever told me about this place, right?" Dutchy asked. I ignored him.

"Wait, who was this?" asked Swifty.

"I don't know. _Any_way, I followed him uptown and we went into this… party. In a big building… a big room. I think it might have been underground, but honestly, I'm not sure."

"This story just keeps getting better and better," Swifty retorted. I chose to ignore him, too.

"Well, Petey was there after all. Now, he'd gotten that last elixir alright – oh, that's in my pocket, by the way – but he'd made kind of a hasty decision before I'd arrived… see, he bet the elixir an- ah, against some old rich guy. Meaning, if we won, we got the elixir and Lucky feet, and if we lost, we lost… the elixir."

"Perfect," Dutchy said with smile. "Perfect for you, I mean. What kind of bet?"

"They were stakes on a game… poker – five card draw. Easy, right?" The others shrugged in general agreement. "Wrong. The guy had Luck on his side. Literally."

"What?" said Swifty.

"Lady Luck. She was with this guy. In the flesh."

"That's ridiculous."

"You're tellin me. I didn't know it at the time, I just thought it was a pretty dumb game I'd been tricked into. Fortunately, One Lung Pete did something – I don't know what, and I don't really care – and got the woman out of the room, so I ended up winning." I didn't mention the cheating part. That wasn't really quite necessary.

"I bet you cheated," Swifty said, sitting back in his seat.

I cleared my throat and said, "I did no such thing. And either way, now we have these Lucky feet. And the elixir."

"Whoa, wait – the woman had chicken feet?" Boots asked, his face all screwed up as he tried to figure it out.

"Ah, not quite… she… she had chickens. Petey swore it would work, and she didn't look too happy about giving them up, so if they don't work after all, I guess we'll just have to take it up with him."

"Great," Dutchy grumbled. "If it doesn't work, we'll just come back and gather all this shit all over again. Yeah, Specs will love that."

His comment created an awkward silence that no one was really willing to break. He realized this and looked down, pretending to rest, and I tried to catch Swifty's eye. "What did you really do with the bag?" I asked him.

"Oh, it's still upstairs… why?"

"I have the elixir right here… maybe we could go and add them with the others?"

Swifty nodded and stood, setting his plate down on the table. I followed suit and we headed back up the stairs together.

"You slipped," he remarked as soon as we reached the top.

"What?" I said. I was still on my feet, so far as I could tell.

"In your story. You slipped. So, tell me, what did you leave out?"

"Nothing," I said, giving him a level gaze. He looked right straight back.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

He dropped the subject and dropped to a knee. I found the bottle with the last elixir in my pocket and handed it down to him. He set it on the floor and went to work prying up the floorboard, asking, "So, what are you going to do with him, anyway?"

"Wha- who?"

"The kid. Boots." Apparently it didn't matter if I told him the whole story or not. He knew. He moved the wood out of the way and looked up at me. "You gonna keep him forever, or what?"

"We'll get him there when we get him there," I shrugged. "We just haven't really gotten around to it yet. We've been busy, believe it or not. And he's been pretty helpful. He found Sofia's locket, and the ingredient list, too."

"No kidding," Swifty said sarcastically and fit the bottle down in with our other objects. The feet – still in their paper bag – went next, on top of it all.

"He's a good kid," I said pointlessly. He hammered the board back in with the heel of his hand, then stood and brushed his palms off on his pants.

"I'm sure he is."

That's about when we heard the crash. We exchanged a glance and practically fought to get out of the room and down the stairs.

At first the only thing I saw was Boots, standing wide eyed and frozen in front of the fireplace. He knew we were there but his gaze never moved, he just started shaking his head. "I didn't do nothin. I just turned around. I didn't do nothin."

I took three quick steps forward so I could see over the back of the couch and there was Dutchy on the floor and shaking so bad he was moving the chair he'd just fallen from. He was deathly white and his eyes had rolled back in his head and his skin and his clothes and the floor were covered in blood and I just stood there with one hand reaching out and felt panic set in and take over right there behind my eyes.


	18. portent

**note: **April break starts Friday, and you know what that means... lots and lots of Epic. Woo.**  
**

**eighteen: **portent

* * *

I allowed myself that panic for a full five seconds before I snapped out of it and ran to Dutchy's side. He was still jerking around, saliva frothing at his mouth, and it scared me shitless but still I knelt down at his head. Boots took his cues from me and joined me and his eyes were so wide, his mouth partly open. I didn't know what to do. I tried to hold down Dutchy's shoulders but he just kept shaking and his head was hitting the floor harshly. I looked around wildly, not fully understanding what was going on. 

"Take his legs," I told Boots, pinning Dutchy's arms at his side. "Come on, on the couch…" We half lifted him with great effort and kind of threw him onto the cushions. He was so drained of color that he was almost gray. I saw now that most – but not all – of the blood everywhere had come from the leeches; they had burst when he'd fallen and rolled, and there were little bits of the worms mixed with the gore.

"What do we do what do we do??"

"Uhh get some water! Get a glass, fill it with water," I said, still holding Dutch down as best I could. Boots nodded and ran into the kitchen, and then I remembered Swifty. He was still standing near the stair door, one hand on its frame, frozen like I had been only a minute earlier. He was staring at me and Dutchy but his gaze – his mind – was somewhere else entirely. I didn't have the time to help him, too – I needed _his_ help.

"_Swifty_!" I hollered, gritting my teeth as one of Dutchy's elbows shot out and hit my chest. Swifty blinked once and didn't move a muscle, but he was back with us. "Sheets," I said, hoping to at least stop some of the bleeding. "Towels, anything." He continued to stare as if he could see me but not hear me. "_NOW_," I added forcefully. He still didn't acknowledge me but turned and pounded up the stairs. Boots returned running with the cup of water, spilling some of its contents with each step.

Dutchy's body had calmed down for the moment, but his breathing was shallow and raspy. I held his forehead down with my arm and pried open his jaw with the other hand and Boots tipped the glass forward, in his anxiousness pouring a little too much into Dutchy's mouth. It dripped down his chin and Dutchy coughed, his body heaving so that I was afraid he would start shaking again. I cursed myself for being stupid and jumped on the couch and maneuvered myself under his head so that it was higher than his body and then signaled for Boots to try again with water. He did so and I think Dutch swallowed it, but I don't know if it helped any, so I let his head down and Swifty reappeared with an armful of sheets and blankets.

I hadn't been sure before but now I knew that not all the bleeding was coming from the squished leeches. For some reason he had tiny bite marks that were seeping more blood than should have been possible. Boots set the glass on the table and made another run for the kitchen, while Swifty dropped the sheets next to me and crouched at Dutchy's feet, completely at a loss.

"What the fuck happened?!" he exclaimed, finding his voice again.

"Fuck do I know!? Where the _fuck_ did you get these leeches?"

He didn't answer, maybe he didn't know. We were both breathing hard, but not harder than Dutchy, whose hands I saw were clenched into fists. Boots returned, carrying a big pot in front of him, and set it between Swifty and I. He then dragged the table out of the way.

"Put the leeches in there," he suggested, then grabbed one on Dutchy's chest and pulled it off and threw it in to demonstrate. Immediately a perfect drop of blood formed at the spot, then swelled too large and broke and ran down his side and kept running. Boots just ignored it and pulled off another. I grabbed his wrist when he went for a third.

"Stop, stop!" I shouted. "He's bleeding, Christ!" But Boots ripped it off anyway.

"We can't leave them on him!" Swifty argued.

"We need the blood," Boots agreed. I just shook my head but didn't say anything and instead started tearing some of the sheets into strips. Boots finished with one arm and so I concentrated on wrapping it, trying to put as much pressure on as possible. I was worried about cutting off all the blood flow, though. What was worse?

"_Fuck_ where's Sofia?!" Swifty cried, jumping to his feet. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, ignoring the fact that it was covered in blood. The same blood had already soaked through two of the impromptu bandages I'd tied. All the leeches were off now, and squirming all over each other in the big pot. It was absolutely disgusting; I told Boots to put it back in the kitchen and cover it with something heavy.

"Swifty, stay with me," I warned. "We need something else to put under the bandages, do you have anything, anything… I don't know a salve or something?" He just looked back at me with that blank look again. "_Swifty._"

"I'll check the kitchen."

"You too, Dutch," I told the prone form on the couch. "Stay with us, please, stay with us." His breath was rattling again and his lips were dry to the point of cracking, so I tried giving him a little water, this time making sure to lift his head up a little, and I think he swallowed some.

I sat back on my heels and let myself breathe, if only for a few seconds. I could hear Swifty turning the kitchen upside down behind me. "Pull through, pull through… come on…" I didn't know what had happened, but I did know that if we came this far and were ruined by one mistake… what would I do with myself?

Some of the bleeding was finally slowing, so when Swifty came back with a small clay pot of some strange, gray substance, I was able to start covering his bites without having to rush too much. Boots helped, but Swifty was putting on a jacket and stalking toward the door.

"I'm going to find her," he said, and disappeared outside without another word. He hadn't expected, and wouldn't have tolerated an argument, so I didn't bother with one. Our clear day was gone; it was cloudy now, and would rain soon. Neither Boots nor I commented on his departure, we just continued our work, smearing globs of the stuff on Dutchy and then wrapping and tying fresh strips of cotton around them. The salve was working really well so far and if it turned out to be poisonous… well, we would find out pretty soon.

When we were finished, we got right to cleaning up the mess that had been left behind. I think we were just trying to distract ourselves, trying to find things to do so we wouldn't have to talk about any of it.

"Come back, come back," Dutch said in a voice so faint and so desperate that at first I thought I'd imagined it. But Boots stopped what he was doing and looked at Dutch, then at me, and I knew it had been real. "No…" he said, and cried out a little. I felt helpless, but there wasn't anything more I could do, so I just continued to clean. When we were finished, I sat in the chair near Dutchy's feet and Boots leaned against the fireplace, and we both just watched him. By now it was raining, pouring, actually, and the only sounds in the room were the raindrops against the roof and the street and the windows… and Dutchy's deep, even breathing.

I was exhausted. I felt as though I'd run for miles without stopping. I hoped Dutch was all better, if only because I didn't think I could move from the chair I was in if he started having problems again. My eyelids were heavy and when I wasn't paying attention they slipped down and I fell into a light and grateful sleep.

* * *

It was dark when I woke, and still raining. Dutchy was awake and propped up into a half-sitting position. He had a big mug of something that he was taking small sips from. I looked around, still half asleep, but Swifty was nowhere to be found. I saw that a similar mug had been placed a few feet away from me on the table. It had some sort of thin soup in it. I smiled, then, half out of relief and half out of amusement. Boots was becoming quite the housekeeper. Swifty would be proud. 

Boots himself was still sitting against the fireplace, watching Dutchy with interest. Dutchy was refusing to meet either of our eyes, he seemed withdrawn – shy, or embarrassed, maybe. I let my curiosity get the best of me.

"Dutch," I said gently, "what happened?"

He looked at me and gave a slow shake of his head. He cast his gaze downward again. His shirt was back on, so I assumed the bite marks were okay and the bandages were still working.

"Are you okay?" I ventured. He nodded.

"I'm just… tired," he said. His voice was scratchy. It reminded me of his breathing earlier, and I felt a little chill.

"I think we're all tired," I agreed. We sat in silence, Boots dozing off a little, and finally Dutchy finished his soup and realized he didn't really have anything else with which to distract him. I tried not to force the issue, but kept my gaze steady on his face.

"You saw him again, didn't you," I said. He hesitated, drawing a breath in. Then he just nodded. I sat back a little. "You talked… when you were out, I mean. Delirious. You said a few things." He looked quickly to me. "Nothing bad. Just… it just seemed like… like you weren't with us. You were off somewhere else, Dutch. Where were you?"

"I saw his face," Dutchy said, seeming to ignore my question. "I've… I've seen him before. He's talked to me… or at me. But I've never seen his face." I noticed for the first time how bloodshot his eyes were, and now they were a little wet, too. I ducked my head, embarrassed for him. "I miss his face," Dutchy mumbled miserably. "These aren't dreams. This wasn't a dream," he added quickly. I'd never said it was, but I stayed quiet.

"So what was it?" Boots asked quietly. I guess he'd woken up, or maybe he'd been awake the whole time.

"I… don't know. Anything I say will sound dumb."

Boots shrugged. "Try me."

"I… I don't know! Visions? I feel like he's trying to tell me something, or maybe I just want him to tell me something, but he doesn't. Or he can't. It's always the same. Help… he just wants help. But when I try to… I can't speak. I try to tell him that we _are_ helping. But maybe he can't hear me. I don't _know_." I said nothing. Communicating through visions? Was this some ability of Specs'? Or of Dutchy's?

"I see him in my dreams," he continued dismally, his face in his hands and his voice muffled and broken. "In a crowd or all alone but I can never get to him and when I do I can't see his face. I can't touch him. I can get close enough to touch but when I just reach, when I reach forward… it's all lost."

I looked up at the ceiling as if it would hold the answers we both needed. I felt that I had to say something but Dutchy would not be comforted by empty words. Instead, Boots asked the questions I didn't think I could get away with.

"What is his face like?"

Dutchy thought about this for a minute and closed his eyes. "…Sad. It's… tired. He looked at me, but he was looking through me. It's like he knew I was there but he couldn't actually see me. But he knew… and he spoke. And he searched. But he couldn't find me, and… so he left."

_Come back, come back_, I remembered. It was the kind of thing I wouldn't forget for awhile.

"I'm not going to see him again, am I?" Dutchy asked thickly, raising his face from his hands. He straightened and winced, still sore. "Maybe he's already dead, and I just… for the rest of my life, and these dreams…"

"You'd never be apart," I said dumbly, trying my best (and failing miserably) to be reassuring.

"And never quite together," he reminded me after a beat. This time we both looked away. He stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes again and I stood and gathered the mugs, if only to have something to do with my hands. I left them in the kitchen and then went back out to the main room and made my way over to one of the windows. It was dark, and it was pouring, and as a result I couldn't really see anything, but I looked out just the same. Dutchy had fallen back asleep and I was relieved to see that he seemed much more restful. Boots dragged himself up the stairs to find somewhere more comfortable than the fireplace. I stood quietly, not quite sure what to do with myself.

I was so focused on the nonexistent landscape outside that I nearly jumped out of my skin when the door slammed closed to announce Swifty's return home. He came through the hallway, and upon hearing only one set of footsteps, my heart tightened.

He stopped at the threshold, dripping wet and wild eyed. He looked out into the room but didn't seem to actually _see_ any of us. I remained at the window, a little spooked by his appearance and that look in his eyes. I'd seen that look before. Not often. Not happily.

"She's gone," he said in a voice that was heavy with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "She's gone."


	19. fault

**note:** Thanks to Harmony for figuring out how to get around FFN's silliness, and to B for spreading the word!**  
**

**nineteen: **fault

* * *

"What are you talking about?" I said quickly, taking just one step forward. "She's not gone. She's just not back yet. What's the matter with you?"

"She's gone," he repeated, shaking his head. "_Fuck,_ we're in trouble."

"Calm down, you'll wake Dutchy up," I snapped. But now I was starting to feel a little worried myself. "What happened?"

He hadn't bothered to take his jacket off, or his shoes. He stepped out of the puddle of water that had been forming at his feet and ran a hand through his hair. It stayed slicked back. He looked at the window, at me, at Dutchy, unable to focus on anything.

"What happened?" I asked again, and took another step forward.

"Nothing!" he seethed. "Nothing! That's just it! She's _gone_ for chrissake!"

"She's not… how could she be… Swify, Sofia's… she's not gone," I said, but my words had no strength behind them. "How do you know?" I asked dumbly.

"Race, she left _hours_ ago… Jesus… she's not here, ok? I looked everywhere. I went everywhere. Something _happened_, Race. _She's gone_."

Sofia had been hiding for the past few days. But who had she been hiding from? We knew now who had Cursed Specs… did that mean…

"Brooklyn," I said quietly. It was still more of a guess than anything, though.

"Does it matter?" Swifty said bitterly, gritted his teeth. He hit the wall with a fist and then just rested his head against it, letting the rain drip down his face. I sighed and ran a hand through my own hair, feeling a headache coming on.

"It's gonna be okay," I said wearily. "We can't be sure she's gone. What if she's just hiding? Maybe they knew she was here. Or maybe she had a close call, has to lay low for a few hours." Swifty, still leaning against the wall, shook his head again and again. "She can take care of herself, you know," I added with a frown. "She's okay. I know it." But I didn't feel it. And he didn't believe me.

"She's gone," he said, and I sensed real pain in that voice. It spooked me, even more than his appearance had. But how could he be so sure?

Swifty turned against the wall and slid down it until he was sitting, his knees almost to his chest but splayed open, his elbows resting on them and his hands covering his head as if he were about to rip his hair out. "I told her to stay here," he groaned. "I promised I would protect her, in my mind I… and I had to keep her safe." I shifted my feet, at a loss for what to do or say or even think, and glanced over at Dutchy. His eyes were closed and he was still paler than usual, but his breathing wasn't as deep as before. For a split second I was concerned, but then I realized. Dutchy wasn't asleep. He was eavesdropping. I turned back to Swifty and tried to forget about it.

"It's not your fault," I said needlessly, then, "You know she'll probably be back in the morning."

"She's not coming back," he hissed, taking his hands away from his face and throwing me a steely glare. "She can't come back. _She's gone_." I sighed again and went to the window. Nothing had changed; I still couldn't see out, but at least it was something to do. The room grew very still. Idly, I wondered if Dutchy was holding his breath. Swifty's breathing was heavier though, as if he were in pain. I looked at him, torn between pity and concern, despite all feelings to the contrary he'd shown me.

"_I can't see her face_," he said then, his voice cracking. I abandoned it all, the ill will and the grudges and the sour history, if only for just that moment. I approached him and dropped to a knee, leaning in as close as I could get without startling him.

"Swifty?" I said. His hands were over his face again and he was shaking ever so slightly. I resisted the urge to put a hand on his shoulder, just to do _something_ to let him know that I was there. But I also didn't entirely understand. "Swifty, you… you saw her today, what do you mean you…"

"I see her every day," he said, voice low. "_Fuck_, I see her every night. I close my eyes and there she is. I look around, look across the street or inside a window and she's there. But I _can't see her face_. I _can't remember_ her face." He let himself look at me, and his eyes were red, redder than Dutchy's. "I had to look at a picture, Race. The other night. I had to look at the fucking _picture_ to see."

I sat down with a thump and looked at the floor. This wasn't about Sofia at all, none of it.

"Every day," he moaned.

"It wasn't your fault," I said quietly. "That wasn't your fault and this wasn't your fault, Swifty. We'll find Sofia. She's out there. She's fine."

"Fuck do you know," he said and I winced as he turned his anger on me. "You know you said that last time, too, that's what you do, you say things will be fine and everything will work out but what do you do about it? What do you ever do to see it through? Nothing. You say it'll be fine and then you sit back and wait for it to straighten itself out but _guess what Race._ It doesn't. Instead it fucks up but you're still on the other side of the glass. It's not your fault because you never did a goddamn thing. You just pretend you weren't involved and…" he trailed off as if exhausted. I was still staring at the floor but I could feel his gaze hot on my forehead. I was reeling. I didn't bother to defend myself, because he was convinced otherwise and had been convinced for a while now and nothing I could say, not even at his most vulnerable moment, would change that. So I shut up and I let him tear me apart for something that had hurt me as much as it had hurt him. But he couldn't believe that, he couldn't believe that because he thought he was closed in his one private world where no one felt the things he felt or had the pain he had. He was wrong. And only the threat of losing a few teeth kept me from saying it right then and there.  
I stood up. The moment was over. I looked to Dutchy, who snapped his eyes shut as soon as he noticed. I turned to go to the stairs, but when I was about a step away, there was a loud and frantic pounding at the front door. Swifty got up and went to answer it and I returned to the window. I heard muffled voices, then Swifty returned with someone familiar in tow. He was a mess – wet, dirty, and high strung.

"Skittery," I said, rushing forward to shake his hand. He didn't smile when he saw me, just nodded a little and took my hand and then crossed his arms and accepted with a nod of thanks the seat that Swifty showed to him. Swifty disappeared into the kitchen and I moved Dutchy's feet a little and sat on the couch. Skittery was busy trying to get the goose bumps on his arms to fade.

"What's wrong?" I asked immediately, now glad that Dutchy was awake, even if he was still pretending not to be. Skittery waved me off.

"I'll wait for Swifty," he said. "It's bad." He stopped rubbing his arms and noticed Dutchy for the first time. "What's with him?" he asked.

"Long story," I said. "He's okay."

Swifty returned and thrust a steaming mug into his hands, which he accepted gratefully, but still eyed Swifty a little warily. Skittery was a mess. Swifty was a mess. Dutchy was a mess. I was fucking high class when compared to the lot of them.

"Bad news," he said after he'd taken a few sips from the mug. "Shit, guys, what's taking you so long anyways?"

I frowned. "Have you talked to Bumlets?"

"Bum- no. None of them. Except... well, you'll hear about that later."

"Some Brotherhood you got there," Swifty muttered. I deflated a little. Skittery didn't seem to have heard.

"Well, if you haven't noticed, things haven't quite gone as planned," I said. "Sofia's place was burned down. We've been all over the city finding the ingredients to this Cure that we don't even know how to put together." Now that I said it, I realized how pathetic it really sounded. Skittery just stared.

"Well you better hurry the fuck up," he said. "Or else you're going to come back to the Lodging House with your pretty potion and no one to give it to."

I felt Dutchy stiffen.

"We're going as fast as we can," I said levelly. "We're getting close, real close."

Swifty didn't comment.

"Sorry," said Skittery, and then he sighed a little, and his shoulders slumped down. "I'm a little nervous, is all." It wasn't really that he was relaxing; he was more resigning himself to the situation at hand.

"Yeah, well," I began, but Swifty cut me off.

"How bad is it, then?" he asked. Skittery shrugged, gulped down some of the mug's steaming contents.

"I'm no doctor," he said. "I mean, he's sick. It's getting worse."

"It hasn't been _that_ long," I pointed out, though our time in the Dark seemed an eternity to me. "Last I heard, he had at least two weeks – and that's your time. How long's it been over there anyway?"

"Got me," said Skittery. "I been all over the place. Three days? Three and a half?" I frowned. It didn't all add up.

"Listen, if this were some normal bug, I'd say Specs'd be fine. Kid's healthy as a horse, and he's got the spirit, too, yeah? Some of the others – kids like Jack, I mean – they been stayin away from him. They think it's contagious. Who's gonna bother to tell em otherwise, right? Anyways. We know it's different. We thought it was bad. Now we know, we know for sure." He looked me straight in the eye now, not bothering to brush the hair out of his face. "He's not gonna last much longer."

"I think I know what's wrong," Swifty said after a few moments. "I think I know why it doesn't fit."

"What, the timing?" I asked. My brain had been trying to work around the same problem.

"Right, yeah. That's the thing. I think he's on Dark time." We were silent after that. If Specs was on Dark time, suddenly we were looking at a different schedule entirely. Suddenly Sofia's disappearance had even more consequences.

Skittery nodded slowly. "That would explain it," he agreed. "I mean, he's goin downhill fast. But not so fast, if we're judgin time by this place. How long you been over here anyway, Race?"

"Near a week, maybe," I guessed. I didn't have the patience to figure it all out. It didn't seem important – in the end, it was all the same. We were going to have to work even faster than before. I let out a breath and leaned back against Dutchy's legs, at that point not really caring if he was cramped. 

"Christ," Skittery muttered. "What'd we get ourselves into, eh Race?" he said with a trace of dry humor. My lips twitched into a half smile. I missed that everything-be-damned attitude. It was a little harder to attain with so much at stake.

I thought he finally relaxed a little, then, and we sat in a comfortable silence for a couple minutes, listening to the rain.

"That sunk in yet?" Skittery asked. He had finished his drink and was now staring at us intently. I realized that he'd never relaxed at all, and I felt stupid for letting my defenses down.

"Why?" said Swifty. But Skittery ignored him and focused on me.

"It gets from bad to worse," he said. "Don't shoot the messenger, okay?"

"Sure, okay," I said, confused. How could it get worse?

"I don't know if I'll be seeing you guys again, not on this side," he began. "I don't even know if I'll be on this side at all, come a few days."

"Why, what happened?"

Skittery didn't answer at first. He tapped his head below his left ear. That, I remembered, is where the mark from Kid Blink's knife would be. I reached my own hand up to mine. The scab hadn't yet fallen off, but it was close, and beneath it would be a shiny pink scar.

"We're in trouble," he said. The "we" in this case meant the lot of us that'd made that pact, now at least a couple centuries ago.

I felt a little queasy, but nevertheless again asked, "What happened?"

"…it's Kid Blink. He got in some trouble." Skittery winced. "A lot of trouble. He tried going through the Paseo with a boxful of something. I don't even know. It's not important, seeing as he don't have it anymore anyways."

"Roque's been watching that door for weeks," Swifty remarked.

"You and I know this," Skittery agreed. "Kid didn't. And you think he'd bother to ask? Of course not. Kid, he thinks he knows everything. Hell, even if I'd known about his plan and warned him, he would've done it, just to spite me and to prove a point."

"He's good," I admitted. Kid Blink had the kind of power most anyone into smuggling would kill for – he could come and go from the Dark as much as he wanted to without any ill effects. For the rest of us, like I'd explained to Dutchy earlier, running in and out produced the kind of effect only a long night and three jugs of moonshine could procure: extreme dizziness, poor eyesight, and the contents of your stomach all over the street.

"He's not that good," Skittery said sharply. "He got caught. El Roque wasn't happy. He knows about Kid, he tried to get him to work for him. Of course, Kid said no, like he's said no to everyone else, but el Roque wasn't too pleased about that. So he figured, why not teach him a lesson, right?" Neither Swifty nor I answered, but I swear the temperature in the room dropped a good ten degrees. "On top of that, while he's got Kid right where he wants 'im, he sees the scar. Figures it's gotta mean something. Figures it's some group, some upstart that Kid's sided with, so he's even angrier cause he thinks he was rejected for someone else. Starts asking a lot of questions. Course, Kid didn't say nothin – or so he told me – but el Roque, like I said, he wants to teach a lesson, so he gets real… persuasive…"

I felt my skin prickle a little. I had to keep reminding myself that if Kid Blink had told Skittery all this, it meant he was alive. It meant he was okay.

"Listen," he continued, still looking hard at me. "That's nothing we need to get into, el Roque had his fun and in the end he let Kid go because he got a few things in return. Words. Three of them. Fever… Pact… Cure… he says that's all they got out of him. He says. And another thing." He hesitated, his face twisting into something between disgust and pity. "An eye."

I blinked, Swifty sat back, shaking his head. Kid Blink had worn his eye patch forever, but he'd never needed it. He thought it made him look helpless when he was selling papers and rakish when he was chasing skirts. But now… it was horribly ironic, the kind of thing only someone like Roque would appreciate. I felt sick, picturing my friend stumbling back to the Other side bloody and broken. I had a hard time meeting Skittery's eyes, after that. I mean, he had actually seen Kid. He had had to deal with it.

But Swifty's mind was somewhere else entirely.

"I told you," he said to me. "She's gone."

"Who?" Skittery asked.

"Sofia," I said. "She… she left this morning and she's not back yet."

"Fever. Pact. Cure," said Swifty. "She's gone. They kidnapped her. You know it. You just can't admit it."

"Why would Roque care about Sofia?"

"Who says he does? Who says it was him?" Swifty challenged. "Even I can't keep track of alliances. Who knows what they know that we don't. Roque connects the three words, plus whatever else Blink screamed out. It's not hard. Some group of people are looking for a Cure. To the Fever. Who does he pass the information to? Anyone. He doesn't care, he's had his revenge on Blink. But someone else might not want that Cure to be found. Someone else might not want a group of dumb kids to be messing around with their business."

I tried to interrupt but he didn't even give me that.

"You marked yourselves," he said, referring to our scars, "and that was your first mistake. How hard is it going to be now to find you, all of you? Skittery is right. You have to lay low."

"Skittery wants to lay low," I said firmly. "He can lay low. I don't have to do anything. Except I have to see this through."

Swifty shrugged. "I'm just sayin. It's gonna be harder. You have to be more careful. No more parties with Petey."

"No surprise there," I muttered.

"Listen, I need to go," Skittery said, antsy, and stood. "I'll keep my ears open about Sofia, but I'll be hanging around the Lodging House until this blows over. I think Swifty's right. Sofia's been in the middle of this since the beginning. Whoever burned her place down must have found out she was still alive, and I guess now he's found his second chance."

I said nothing. I was having a hard time admitting that we'd lost her like that. Just like that.

"Thanks for coming, Skitts," said Swifty. "Thanks a lot."

"Someone had to tell you," he said with a shrug. "Kid's out, obviously. He'll be out for a while. Bumlets didn't know, and Snoddy, well, no one's heard from him since that morning we were all together in the park." He sighed and started for the door. He let himself out, and I don't know why, but no one really bothered with good byes.

"You get all that, Dutch?" Swifty asked once we heard the door close. Dutchy twisted around and sat up a little.

"I think so," he said sheepishly, his voice still raspy.

"Bed now," I said, turning to him and fighting a yarn, "for real. Are you up to leave for Brooklyn in the morning?" He nodded. "Swifty, you coming?"

Swifty shook his head, stood, and stretched. "No. I'm staying here. I can't leave this place open, not after all that news. And I need to be here in case Sofia… well… and if anyone comes by."

I resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. Who was the hopeful one now? I had no idea what we were going to do about Sofia, and Swifty apparently didn't, either, or else he would have stayed in the chair, taking the entire night to plan everything out. So I stood as well.

"Come on," I said to Dutchy. "Let's get you upstairs. Maybe it won't be raining tomorrow."

"Maybe," Dutchy agreed. He got up with some difficulty and waved my offered arm aside. 

We made our way to the stairs and when we were about halfway up I realized that Swifty wasn't behind us. He was back in that chair, settling in for whatever remained of the night. I guess I'd been wrong after all.


	20. release

**note:** So, I'm finally back from four days in DC, and more than a little upset about missing four days of 1K and four (make that 8 to 12) cups of tea. I love my routine, alright? Apologies in advance for this chapter... especially to Falco, who is already mad at me (now I'm in hiding).**  
**

**twenty: **release

* * *

Unquestionably, the mood in the house the next morning was even more somber than usual. It was no longer raining outside, but the street was full of large puddles and the filth that floated in them. Swifty had built a loud fire that constantly hissed and spat embers and ashes at the crooked wire grate, so that if you were standing too near and not paying attention, you were apt to get burned. That's why I concluded that everyone, including the damn house itself, was in a bad mood.

The exception was Boots, if just for a little while. He was incredibly relieved to find that Dutchy was all better. He seemed concerned about Sofia, but didn't appear to be too worried about it – in his mind, she was just taking longer than usual and would show up sooner or later when we least expected it… like the night she had been in our room at the Brick. I didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise, and Swifty wasn't really speaking with anyone, so we left it at that.

I didn't even want to think about how few hours of sleep I'd gotten. We'd gone to bed late and had to wake up early to get a good start on our trip to visit Spot. Boots was less than thrilled about going to Brooklyn, even when we reminded him that he'd never been to _this_ Brooklyn before – that it was the Other Brooklyn. He just shook his head and stared at the fire.

I gave up after a few minutes and left Dutchy with him as I went into the kitchen to consult with Swifty. I didn't feel ready to go and confront Spot. To be honest, I was a little anxious. I don't know why I thought Swifty would help with that. If he was embarrassed about his display the night before, he didn't really show it. His eyes, though, had dark circles and were hauntingly distant. I had to wonder if last night was the only night he hadn't gotten any sleep. I was beginning to think that it really had been awhile.

He was stirring some of his oatmeal when I came in, but he seemed to have been expecting me, because as soon as the door swung closed behind me, he offered one closed fist in my direction. He did it without making eye contact or even turning, but I put a palm under his hand nevertheless. He opened his hand and I caught Sofia's locket as it fell, then looked at him questioningly.

"She left it," he said simply. His voice was a little hoarse, so he cleared his throat and then turned out the stove.

"I thought she had been wearing it?" I said, studying the little oval.

"Yeah, well…" he shrugged. "I found it this morning. So she forgot it." He paused a second. "…or she left it."

"And you think I should bring it to Spot?" I asked. His pointed glance was enough of an answer. He dumped the oatmeal unceremoniously into four bowls and shoved two in my hands, then made for the door. He was about to shoulder it open when he hesitated and took a half step back. He looked over his shoulder and regarded me silently for a moment.

"You should think about getting rid of the kid today," he said. I frowned – I'd forgotten completely, but… a promise was a promise. And we'd held onto him for a while.

"Yeah," I said, troubled for some reason. He disappeared through the door but for a second I was rooted in place. "Yeah…" Then I set the bowls down on the table and took a tiny dish from one of Swifty's cupboards. I pinched out some of the brown sugar and stirred it into one of the bowls, then backed out of the kitchen and handed the bowl to Boots, who accepted it glumly. I sat next to him on the couch and we all dug in. After the first bite he kind of grinned a little, and I winked at him when Swifty wasn't looking.

"So, are you still nervous about Brooklyn?" I asked once I took a breather from stuffing my face. He nodded, mouth full. I looked at Dutchy, then at Swifty, whose eyes were fixed on his breakfast. "Okay…" I said. "What would you think if I told you that you didn't have to go?"

He rested his bowl on his lap, thought for a second, and shrugged. "Dunno. I do wanna help you an' Dutch."

"You've helped us out a lot already," Dutchy reminded him kindly.

"See, we were thinking," I continued slowly. "We were thinking that maybe this would be a good time to drop you off wherever you need to go, now. You know, on the way out of town… so to speak."

"…Okay," he said, and went back to eating. Dutchy and I exchanged glances.

"You know we'd rather keep you around," said Dutchy. "But we can't. We gotta get you to your next home, where you can work and live and all that good stuff you aren't getting just roaming around with us. Besides," he added ruefully, "we did promise."

Boots just nodded. He scraped out the last of his oatmeal and then reached deep into his pants pocket and fished out a crumpled piece of paper, which he handed to me, still not really meeting my eyes. Swifty stood abruptly and went back into the kitchen.

I glanced down at the note. I didn't know the name – _Greymalkin_ – but the address I could find. It wasn't on the way to Black's Drop, the door we would be using to get to the Other side, but it would be simple enough to take a loop around and hit both stops. I folded the paper up and stuck it in my vest, then finished the last of my own bowl and took it into the kitchen.

Swifty was standing at the sink basin, his hands at the edge. His flask was open and on its side beside him. There was a tiny window that showed the tinier yard behind the house, and he was staring so intently out it that I didn't dare disturb him. I set my bowl on the island as quietly as possible and returned to the main room, ready to leave this unhappy house.

Dutch and Boots must have recognized that look in my eyes, or my stance, because they stood as soon as I came back. Dutch glanced at me with a question in his eyes, but I just shrugged and jerked my head toward the kitchen door. I didn't think Swifty would be moving for a while, and I certainly didn't think he was planning on seeing us off at this point. Boots looked more than a little disappointed.

"You can go say goodbye if you want," I told him. He considered it for a second, even took a step or two toward the door, but ultimately he decided against it and turned his back. I knocked the bottom of his chin and said, "Cheer up, kid. It's gonna be fine, you'll be all settled before you know it and you'll have forgotten about the likes of us soon as we're out the door."

He offered up half a smile and I grinned fully in return. Dutchy caught on and cuffed him on the head. They play fought out the door and I followed, shaking my head as I went through the hall. I closed the door behind myself and, feeling the cool weight of the locket around my neck, scanned the street ahead. Yesterday at this time, I probably would have said, "This is it. Now there's a light at the end of the tunnel." Now that Sofia was gone, I wasn't so sure. We would find her, though; we had to. We weren't about to let Specs down when we had already come this far.

* * *

The more we walked and the further we got away from that sad place, the more the atmosphere around us changed. We talked more, smiled more. Boots was more animated, and the air seemed almost… charged. I think it was Boots' hope. We were so upbeat about the whole thing that he could only hold out for so long before he began to believe it, began to realize that this was his new start and it was all just the beginning of a big adventure.

He believed it, and Dutch believed it, and I found myself believing it too, despite the fact that usually I would be thinking the opposite way. I wondered if Dutchy was rubbing off on me, if his optimism was contagious. That was a frightening thought.

The address on the slip was a bit of a walk from Swifty's, but only a shortcut away from Black's Drop, the place where Dutchy and I would be departing the Dark. I was more nervous about that than anything. I didn't want to see Spot (especially with bad news of Sofia) and I didn't want to go to Brooklyn. I didn't even want to go to the Other side, though I couldn't figure out why that was.

There was a sort of stale breeze that morning, and a little fog on the streets. Anything was better than the seemingly constant rain we'd had to put up with. I watched the mist wash over my shoes and listened to Boots chatter away as we walked. Dutchy, walking up ahead next to him, was doing a pretty good job putting up with all of it.

"Greymalkin," Boots said, as if trying the word on for size. "I dunno if I like that."

"No last name, huh?" said Dutchy.

"Nope. Guess not. Well, not that I know anyhow."

"Race, you never heard of a Greymalkin?" Dutchy asked over his shoulder. "I thought you knew everyone!"

"Nah," I said. "Suppose we must run in different circles."

"Yeah, you run around in circles," Boots cracked with a cheeky grin. I reached forward to smack him, but missed. "Too slow, old man!" he crowed. I just rolled my eyes and pointed left at the intersection.

"So, what d'ya think it's gonna be?" Dutchy asked him.

"Dunno," he admitted with a shrug. "I guess something to do with my… you know…"

"What?" There was a pause, in which Boots looked intently at Dutchy, who realized and said, "Oh. Oh, yeah, 'course. Your… um, power, or whatever." Another pause. "Say, what is that, anyways?"

Boots smiled widely, probably glad for the excuse to boast. He tapped a finger at the corner of one eye. I sped my pace up a little, curious.

"I can see," he said cryptically. To Dutchy's credit, he waited quite patiently for the rest of the explanation. "I can see… in the dark. I can see… at night." He blinked a few times, grinned again, and then skipped ahead a few paces. I fell back, mentally kicking myself. It was all too obvious. The book at Madame Proulx's library. The locket, buried in ash and debris. Dutchy groaned aloud and I could tell his mind was going through the same steps.

"And I thought I was getting good at this," he grumbled to me.

"I thought I _was_ good at this!" I agreed, shaking my head. We watched Boots stumble along in front, and then I started to notice numbers and landmarks.

"Hey, whoa," I said, throwing a hand in front of Dutchy's chest. He stopped with a grunt and called to Boots. "Yeah, this is it," I said to myself. "Boots! You walked past it, come on."

Boots ran back to us and slid to a stop, almost falling over in the process. The building was grand, but fake, I could tell that straightaway. It was a false front as flimsy as cardboard, maybe one good gust of wind away from falling flat on the street.

Dutchy glanced first at me, then shrugged a little and stepped up to knock on the door, which was a natural wood color and had a bronze plate with the buildings' number engraved on it. There was no doorknob. The door opened before he could even raise a hand. Inside, a short man with a long beard and dark, dark eyes took a good look at us before stepping aside and waving us in. Dutchy went first, then Boots, and then I. The short man pushed the door shut behind us, cutting off the street and the fog and, oddly enough, sending a strange little chill down my spine.

I focused on walking straight ahead, even put a confident hand on Boots' shoulder. He twisted his neck around to smile encouragingly up at me, and that smile was charged just like the air around us had been before. I raised an eyebrow in return and he laughed a little and went to catch up to Dutchy.

We were led into a sort of lobby or parlor type room first. It was large and open, with huge ceramic tiles covering the floor and a tall, tall ceiling. Furniture was scattered all over the place, couches and chairs and end tables all tastefully covered and arranged. The short man held up his hand, indicating that we should stop here, and disappeared around a corner. I took it all in, the room and the stuff, and tried to figure out how much it all could be worth. It was strange. Originally I'd thought that the front outside was just old, something of past grandeur that was supposed to hide the dump that existed beyond the double doors. But now I realized that it was exactly the opposite. The façade was falling apart (or so it seemed) while the inside of the place was bleeding money.

The man came back and beckoned again, never speaking. We obliged and left the large room to go down a very short hallway, which emptied out into a courtyard of some kind.

Everything that followed happened so fast that I barely had any time to process it. A new man, tall and lean and with a long beard like the other's, approached us. He barely gave Dutchy and I a passing glance before turning his gaze to Boots.

"You're Lucas?" he asked. Boots nodded, suddenly shy, and kind of inched back closer to where Dutch and I were standing. The man looked him up and down and then kind of nodded to himself, and said, "Fine. Come with me."

Boots looked up at us and smiled nervously. I opened my mouth to say something, some kind of sudden, last minute goodbye, but before I could get any words out, the lean man cut in. "Come with me," he said again, this time with a little more edge in his voice. So Boots followed him, and then turned back after a few steps to give us a little wave. It was only then, when I glanced up to watch him go, that I got a good look at the place we were in.

It was a large, open air rectangular area of packed dirt and no vegetation. The perimeter consisted of one continuous tall stone building with dark walls and few windows. Each side of the enclosure was identical to the one we had emerged from. The view looking out from where we were standing painted a grim and strange picture. Every ten feet or so, a tall wire fence ran the width of the enclosure. As soon as I noticed this, I began to feel uneasy. These boxed in areas, which had just one gate where they ended on the right side of the courtyard, seemed empty. But as I took a few steps toward the one nearest to us and stared through the wires, I could see darker shapes near the opposite side of the rectangle. I could see bodies.

Dutchy, who was doing the same thing I was, froze a few seconds after I realized this. "Race…" he said slowly, tensely. I held a hand out to silence him. I knew. And I knew that we weren't in a courtyard, as I'd been calling it. No, we were in a corral.

"Where'd they take him?" I asked flatly, feeling something akin to real anger rising up in my stomach.

"Over there," Dutchy said, pointing to the right side of the area.

"Let's go," I said, and stalked off in that direction. Boots was still in sight, and still with that lean man… along with four others, all of whom had the same long beards and dark eyes. They had already gone through one gate into some other area, different in shape and purpose than that long line of cages we had seen before. We stopped right before the fence and watched, trying to figure out what we could do – or if we needed do anything. If we were overacting, or…

No one seemed to notice us, including Boots, who was facing away. One of the men was holding the boy by his shoulders, while two others worked their way around his body with some sort of measuring string or tape. A fourth was writing things down on a pad of paper, while that lean man just watched from a few paces back. Boots kept twisting his head this way and that way, and his mouth was moving but we couldn't hear what he was saying.

"Something's not right," Dutchy hissed at my ear, visibly agitated. "Race, what is this place? Where have we taken him?" As we watched, one of the men grabbed Boots' jaw and forced his mouth open, crouching to get a better look inside. When Boots tried to turn his head away, the man at his shoulders gave him a good shake and held him tight.

I had no answers for Dutchy or for myself, so I did the only thing I could think of. When someone passed our way – short and grizzled with that telltale beard – I stepped out in front of him and asked, as casually as possible, "What's the deal with this?" I nodded my head toward Boots. He paused and gave me quick glance, almost puzzled. Then he looked past Boots to the faraway cages that we had seen packed with forms before.

"Hrm," he grunted. "That group, they's goin' to the mines I believe." He nodded, confirming this thought, and continued on his way. I stared after him, and Dutchy seized my wrist.

There were several seconds when this didn't register with either of us. We stared dumbly at each other, understanding but unable to fit our minds around the concept. The mines. Kids don't work in the mines, not on this side or the Other. Kids don't go to the mines, not unless…

"_Slavery_, Race?" he shouted, but I didn't even have to answer. I felt sick to my stomach and I knew that my face displayed that. But Dutchy had been loud enough that the lean man with Boots had turned his head. He saw us and recovered quickly from his surprise, in fact he began making his way over immediately.

"Shut up!" I scowled, yanking his hand off. The lean man did not look too happy, and I was at a loss for what to do. Now we'd lost both time and whatever element of surprise we would have been able to use to our advantage. Meanwhile, the other men had not paused in their endeavors. They'd taken Boots' shirt off, and his mouth was moving faster than ever as they continued with their measurements, or whatever it was they were doing. He watched the lean man leave and then noticed us and became even more animated, straining his skinny arms where they were being held by one of the men.

"_Race!_" he cried, but I could only hear it faintly. "_RACE!_"

"_Boots!_" Dutchy yelled back, running up against the fence and pounding a fist against is uselessly.

The lean man had reached us. "What are you doing here?" he said coldly. His voice was loud and pointed and cut effectively through the commotion. "You need to leave this place."

Neither of us answered. I wrapped my fingers around the wires in the fence and shouted to Boots, who was being led away, terrified and now completely naked. He tugged helplessly against his captor's grip and I searched wildly for some way to scale the fences or get around, but it was too late, because now there were two hands on my own shoulders, and Dutchy was being dragged away with a trickle of blood above one eye, and as I felt a blunt pain on my own head, Boots and everything else slowly faded from view and I was left with my own desperate calls ringing in my ears.

* * *

We were thrown carelessly out across the street from that grand façade, and fortunately I awoke before anyone could go through our pockets. My head was on fire, my eyes were stinging, Dutchy was still slumped beside me, and two bearded men stood at those double doors and were watching us intently.

I shook Dutch, who came to with a groan, and pulled him up. The men continued to watch us, one even striding forward as we rose. "Come on," I said groggily, pushing Dutchy ahead while I stumbled behind him. "We gotta go." My words slurred together like I was drunk. We supported each other until we turned the next corner, where we collapsed on the nearest stoop. With that building out of sight and the panic fading from my mind, I dropped my head into my hands and allowed myself to think about what had just happened. About what we had done.

We had walked Boots into a trap and we had done it willingly. We had delivered him to some group of slavers on a silver platter for no better reason than a dumb promise to a senile old woman. Oh, he was at a place where he could use his power, alright. If he could see in the dark and was heading for the mines, he would probably never see the light of day again.

I had a splitting headache and I had a rushing sound still in my ears and on top of it all, I was deep in the worst misery and guilt since I could remember. Beside me, Dutchy sniffed loudly. I knew that if I looked up, I would find his eyes red and wet, but I couldn't blame him. I just stared at my shoes, hating myself and the world around me.

A cold wind blew up and knocked my hat to the ground, where it remained, half in a puddle. I didn't bother to pick it up. I don't know how long we sat there in that despairing silence, but as the air turned colder and the fog thicker, I finally forced myself to stand, retrieve my soaked hat. I looked down at my friend.

"We have to go," I said in a voice that betrayed my emotions. He stood, not even raising his head, and fell in step behind me. I moved as if in a dream, not feeling each footstep, not seeing anything around me, just letting my feet take me where I needed to go. I think I just shut my mind off.

When we reached the Blacks Drop building, we went around the back and helped each other up the fire escape steps wordlessly. The building was unremarkable. It was whitewashed brick and not very tall. Its roof was covered with pots of dead plants and rotting flowers. Like our Battery Park entrance a week before, the door was almost impossible to guard, so it remained open to anyone who knew how to use it. Also like the Battery Park jump, it was a one way ticket. We would have to find an alternate route when we wanted to come back to the Dark, but that minor problem was the last thing on my mind.

I brought Dutchy over to one side of the top of the building. Looking down yielded the glamorous view of an empty alleyway. I didn't bother to look up. I was not interested in a view of the city – besides, again, the building wasn't very tall, and there wouldn't be much to see. I stared down at that alley, then knelt on the rooftop, crunching gravel beneath my feet, and lowered myself over the edge. I held on for a few seconds, the fatigue in my arm muscles the first thing I'd been able to feel in hours. Then I let go, and closed my eyes, and wished desperately that I would just keep on falling, wished I would never hit bottom, even if that meant being forever in limbo.


	21. brooklyn

**note:** Congrats to Falco Conlon for finishing "In New York" (go read it!)! Ah... I don't think I really have much else to say, except that I reeaallyy want to finish this, and hopefully it will be done well before summer. Thanks to all that continue to read and review! I do love you. Very, very much.**  
**

**twenty-one: **brooklyn.

* * *

It was somewhere along the lines of late afternoon when we hit ground on the Other side. For a few seconds I was disoriented, it was so cloudy and cold and gloomy, that for a moment, I wasn't sure that we'd crossed over at all. But then Dutchy landed just about on top of me and rolled away, cradling his head. I rubbed at my eyes and stood, tired and miserable.

We were on a deserted side street, behind a cluster of ominous looking buildings. I brushed myself off and looked around, trying to gather my wits together. I didn't know where we were. The thing about Black's Drop was that it didn't necessarily throw you in the same place every time you used it, which was part of the reason that no one thought it was worth controlling. Dutchy and I were lucky to have hit at the same spot. It wasn't like one of us would have ended up on the opposite end of the city, but the difference of even a block or two could have set us back an hour.

Dutchy stood silently at my shoulder. I doubted that either of us were planning on doing much speaking. It was not going to be a fun trip. I made to walk around the group of buildings, figuring that a main street would be on the other side, hopefully with a sign or a landmark I'd recognize. We would be in Manhattan, that much I knew. No one went through the doors that led to Brooklyn. Actually, I doubted that any of them even worked anymore. Even stuck on this side, Spot was dangerous. No one was willing to provoke him, and he didn't like to have his privacy invaded. Our plan was to come out on this side of the bridge and work our way over to his, staying out in the open. There would be no sneaking around. We needed his help, and to get that we would need his trust. I knew that we couldn't afford to hide anything.

Dutch followed me like a silent shadow, for once not asking any questions. To be honest, his glum quiet was starting to unnerve me. I felt the same way, though. I had no words. I didn't trust my voice.

Instead, I did my best to turn my attention elsewhere. I noticed a familiar pub across the main street, its sign visible in the short glimpses I could catch between the figures hurrying up and down the street. I squinted up at the sky. It would rain soon. Figured.

I immediately started in what I knew to be the general direction of the bridge, Dutch lagging a few steps behind me. He was staring all around us, taken by the mix of people, the shops, the colors, the scattered smiles. He was finally home, but he couldn't enjoy it. I couldn't appreciate it either, so I settled for just ignoring it completely. I thought that if I pretended that nothing had changed, it wouldn't affect me… and it didn't – at least not right then.

I turned to Dutchy. "Enough lollygagging," I said, almost surprised at how cold and empty my voice sounded. It hadn't been intentional. I couldn't even think of a good threat to follow up with, so I just reminded him, "We just… we don't want to run into anyone."

This made him speed up, because I'm sure he agreed. Seeing our friends would lead to questions, which would lead to explanations, which meant lying. If it was someone that was in on the whole thing, the lies would be in the form of our progress. It would be an outline of what had happened, with plenty of things censored – Swifty, Sofia, Boots, the Pact… the heart of the story, really. If it was someone like Jack, who was already confused and more than a little wary of some of us, then the explanation would be no explanation at all, but a pile of excuses. I considered myself a good storyteller and an even better liar, but I had no idea what I would say if confronted, and I wasn't willing to waste any energy thinking of possible outs. Really, it would just be easier to avoid any of that altogether.

So we hurried. I wanted to get to Brooklyn and see Spot before it got dark, and hopefully before it started to rain. After my reminder, Dutchy looked like he just wanted to get off the streets entirely. He kept glancing around and behind his back, as if someone from the Lodging House would be creeping up behind him, or following us at a distance. I knew that if we did indeed run into anyone, it would be a complete – and unfortunate – coincidence.

We made it to the bridge and I felt a momentary relief. In the Dark, my direction was like a sixth sense, something I relied on without realizing. It wasn't like I needed a map to get around our side of New York, and for the most part I could get to the bridge from any part of the city. But it was still different, paying attention to storefronts and street signs, double checking my turns and occasionally having to back track. When I was in the Dark, I just _knew_ where to go. It took being back home to become conscious of how I used that as a crutch.

As we worked our way across the bridge, I felt a sense of dread begin to grow in my stomach. This was the easy part. We were here, sure. But now we had to find Spot. We had to first convince him to have an audience with us… and then we had to convince him to help us. And that was all assuming that he _could_ help us. If not? It was all a wash, and we'd have to return to the Dark with a dead end and the blood of two missing friends still on our hands.

That last thought chilled me to the bone. I had been trying to keep my mind off of Sofia, and especially Boots, but it just worked its way back around to the subject no matter what. The logical part of my brain kept attempting to tell me that none of it was my fault – I'd been asleep when Sofia left, and promises are meant to be kept – but the rest of me was positively aching. I felt the guilt like a constant weight on my shoulders. I could have done better. I could have saved them both. I could have stopped Sofia, I could have broken a meaningless promise. I could have…

But I didn't. And now it was too late, and the only thing to do was pick up the pieces and run as many steps forward as it took to make things right again. Trouble was, I had a sinking feeling that not everything _could_ be made right. We could find Sofia, or she could find us. But Boots…

We were across the border before I even realized we'd left the bridge. We walked right in, and at our age, dressed like we were and walking like we did, it was immediately understood that we weren't coming over for a stroll. We were Manhattan boys. We were newsies. We weren't looking for trouble, but we sure were looking for something. I knew a lot of boys in Brooklyn, but I didn't know either of the two that appeared, one moving in front and other behind, and signaled for us to come with them. The first was there to lead the way. The second lingered to make sure we didn't change our minds at the last minute. I paid them no heed, except to alter my course to match the feet of the boy ahead of me. Dutchy was twitching, still paranoid about seeing the others, even though we were in Brooklyn and it was fast getting dark, almost too dark for our faces to be recognizable.

* * *

We didn't have far to walk. The two Brooklynites led us down to the docks near the bridge. I wasn't nervous, but I was wary – the area was deserted, and I knew that a lot of bad stuff tended to happen on and around the river. I kept my cool and at least attempted to appear confident. Dutch and I stood side by side with our backs to the water. One of the boys had left as soon as we got there, and the other watched us intently. The intensity of his stare made me realize that he was probably pretty new – and pretty nervous. I was careful not to make any sudden movements, in case he was some jumpy sonuvabitch eager to prove himself. Luckily, Dutchy just followed my lead.

It wasn't long before the other boy returned, with a familiar figure in tow. I had to hold back a sigh of relief. I hadn't enjoyed the thought of being stuck in some random place in Brooklyn for hours. We needed to get to Spot… fast.

"Dibs," I said, nodding in the tall boy's direction. He grinned back, but I couldn't answer his smile.

"Racetrack!" he exclaimed, stepping forward to give my hand a hard shake. "Didn't expect to see you here. Kind of late, innit?" Normally, hearing his British lilt while in a tight spot would be like music to my ears, but it failed to lift my spirits. Dutchy was clearly confused.

"Dibs, this is Dutchy, he lives in Manhattan, too. Listen, we need to see Spot. Now."

He raised his eyebrows a little. The other two watched him carefully. "Sorry, Race," he said, "but I dunno if I can do that."

I didn't falter. "It's important," I said, looking him straight in the eye and hoping he somehow recognized the graveness of the situation. "We don't have the time to explain."

But Dibs just shrugged sadly. He did seem genuinely sorry, but that didn't help us any. "I understand, kid, but… it's just not a good time. He ain't seein anyone lately. Hell, I don't even know where the rascal is."

That last part was a lie, but I let it go. Time for the last resort. I unlatched the locket from my neck and held it up so it dangled from my fingers. Dibs took a step closer, intrigued, and unable to see what it was with the absence of moonlight. I let it rest in his palm, and he looked at it, looked at me, and said, "Oh."

The other two crowded closer in an effort to catch a glimpse, but I snatched the locket away and enclosed it tight in my fist.

"Okay, come on," Dibs said with troubled eyes. "Just follow me." He didn't pay any attention to the other boys, and they lagged a few paces behind, probably both puzzled and a little insulted at having been robbed of their job.

We worked our way through the maze of docks, crates, rope, and trash until I was thoroughly lost – Dibs had probably done that on purpose. The other boys had long since left to find something else to do by the time we arrived at Spot's headquarters. This consisted of various stacks of crates and a dilapidated shack with a roof surely just a gust of wind away from caving in. It wasn't all that impressive; in fact, Dutchy was probably disappointed.

Spot had a small fire going in front of the shack and was sitting near it on a box of some sort, leaning in close so he could use its light to read something in his hands.

"This is where I leave you," Dibs murmured from my side. "Good luck." He disappeared, melting into the shadows that surrounded us, but we weren't alone. I knew that several pairs of eyes would be stationed around the area. Spot wasn't paranoid, but he was cautious. And he was smart.

I stepped forward and into the circle of light. He knew I was there, but he didn't yet look up. Only when he had finished whatever he was working on did he bother to acknowledge me.

"This better be good, Higgins." His tone was dry, but far from amused. He looked up, then, but I saw only tired eyes and fatigue. His manner was guarded, though, as always, and I knew that each of his words could be a thinly veiled threat. He did not mess around.

"Spot," I said with a nod, unsure of how to approach everything. He let his papers fall into the fire and looked to me expectantly, ignoring the ashes that started to blow around him.

"I _know_ you didn't just come to say hello," he added. That fact may have been obvious, but I think that it was also a reminder – he may be on this side, but he still knew everything that went on in the Dark. Idly, I wondered if that meant I had to explain anything at all, but his eyes held a sort of guarded curiosity, so I began by clearing my throat.

"We need your help," I said lamely.

"Of course," he said impassively, "so out with it, what's wrong?"

"I…" I hesitated, biting my words back. After all, we were surrounded, and just because Spot trusted these kids didn't mean that I had to. I'd already lectured Dutchy on the importance of keeping your information to yourself.

Spot shook his head a little, most likely reading my thoughts, and probably a little irritated by them. He rolled his eyes and stood, lanky and taller than I remembered. "Well, it's good to see you anyway," he said, basically giving up on the conversation and dismissing us. Dibs was right, he really didn't seem to have the time. He came forward to clasp my hand. The hand I reached out had been holding the locket, and he frowned as we shook and I pressed it against his palm. I pulled my hand away and he drew his back like it had been burned. He didn't even look at the object, just glared at me in such a way that I actually took a step backwards, and bumped into Dutchy.

"What happened to her?" he asked tersely, eyes blazing. I looked at him pointedly and he said, "No, forget it, don't answer that. Go in there," he pointed toward the shack and I grimaced but went through the door with Dutchy close behind. I heard Spot bark out orders outside, probably clearing the area, and then he, too, entered.

"Sit, sit down," he said, and we grabbed some dusty chairs while he paced anxiously.

As soon as he'd decided that we had had enough time to get settled, he whirled around and appeared close in front of me.

"Sorry," I said wearily, "but you don't get any of that without hearing the whole story first."

"You might want to sit down," Dutchy added weakly. Spot ignored him. But he did take a step back, and continued to watch me closely as he found a cigarette and lit it with steady hands.

"It started back about… it started when we woke up to find Specs sick… real sick," I began. "Specs, he lives at the Lodging House, he-"

"I know," Spot interrupted.

"Okay… Specs had Fever, for whatever reason, and so we-"

"I know, I know this," Spot said impatiently, his voice not rising but still becoming somehow sharper. "You had your Pact, you went to the Dark, Sofia's shop was burned down. But she's not dead, so _where is she_?"

"We don't know," I said, trying my hardest not to become frustrated. "Please, just let me explain." He gave me permission again with a short wave of his hand. "You're right, Sofia isn't dead. We didn't know it when we first arrived, but… that's that. She was hiding and staying with Swifty when she could. We went to Swifty because… well, we had nowhere else to go.

"We got a hold of a list of ingredients that we had to find so we could make the Cure for Specs. Sofia offered to help. She said she would mix everything together once we found it all. So we started gathering things up piece by piece. I mean, we only even started a few days ago… a few days Dark time, I don't know about here.

"Things… well, see, things got complicated. You know Kid Blink? He was caught trying to go through a watched door. They… I guess they tortured him –"

"Who?"

"Roque… they… and he said some things. Kid Blink, I mean. Just words, but enough, right? So this happens and then Sofia disappears. She goes out to find something, and she never comes back. Swifty went all over the place looking for her, but… and it's only after that happens that we get the news about Kid Blink, okay? We didn't know, so… so it was too late.

"We had been planning on coming here anyway, so Dutch and I left with this kid…" here I trailed off. I couldn't talk about it. But even if I could bring myself to tell the story about Boots, I knew that Spot wouldn't give a damn. Already he was only half listening, trying to work everything out from what little information I'd been able to give him.

" Anyways, we came here looking for you, and… here we are."

Spot stopped his pacing and looked at me through narrowed eyes. "You came here to tell me about Sofia?"

"Well, no, remember we-"

"You said you'd decided to come here before Sofia disappeared, Racetrack. So either get your story straight, or tell me why you're really in Brooklyn."

I sighed. I'd been trying to get to that, but I didn't have the will to argue right then. "We only have one ingredient missing," I explained.

"Oh, yeah? Let me guess, a stone from the Brooklyn Bridge?" he said with biting sarcasm. He wasn't smiling. His cigarette smoldered in his hand.

"Not quite," I said. "It's… it's an 'effect' from the caster of the spell… the curse. Something related to them – something physical, or something important, like, well, a locket."

He only continued to stare at me, a little incredulously. "I got no bad blood with Specs, Race," he said.

"I know," I said. I had to be careful with this next part. "But for whatever reason, Br – ah, you know, the guy who threw you out? He does."

"He sent the Fever?"

"He sent the Fever."

Now Spot came as close as he would to sitting; he crouched down and took a long drag from his cigarette, staring off into space before turning his gaze back on me.

"And you think I have some sort of… effect… from this… from him."

"Well… yeah," I said with a shrug. "Or, I mean, we thought that you could at least help. That you could point us in the right direction." But I had thought that he would have something. And he knew that.

"You're asking a lot, you know," he said, almost casually.

"I know," I replied. Dutchy watched our exchange with rapt attention. He was far too intimidated to add anything of his own to the conversation.

"Maybe you don't really realize this," Spot continued, "but you're asking a lot."

I didn't feel the need to repeat myself, so instead I asked, "Are you coming back?" At first glance it may have seemed like a change of subject, but it was quite the opposite.

"Of course," Spot said plainly. And it was the way in which he answered my question that said it all. Spot was coming back to the Dark, and he didn't care who knew it. That meant he had to have something up his sleeve, some ace that he hadn't yet played. He was confident and casual because he was positive he would come out on top. I sat back a little, thinking this through, and he stood and flicked his spent cigarette to the ground.

"Dutchy," he said, looking to my companion for the first time, "you stay here." He turned his eyes on me and I was struck, as most people are, by their intensity.

"Race, you're coming with me."


	22. keys

**note: **We're gettin there... slowly but surely, we're gettin there. To all the readers (and especially reviewers) that have been sticking to this... THANK YOU. I love you all oh-SO-very-much!**  
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**twenty-two: **keys.

* * *

Dutchy sent me a desperate plea of a look as we left, but I ignored him, set on finding out exactly what Spot had to tell – or show – me. One of Spot's minions had returned and now stationed himself at the door of the shack. I almost grinned in spite of myself, because Dutchy was probably going to go crazy in there alone.

Outside it was raining lightly. Normally this wouldn't bother me, but the rain was so cold and the night so dark that I found myself to be quite uncomfortable, and crossed my arms over my chest, irritated and hoping that whatever Spot was doing wouldn't take long.

Our walk started in silence, so I was surprised when, after we had left the docks, Spot spoke up.

"How was she?" he asked, looking at me as he walked as if his eyes could tell him something that my voice would not. "How does she look?"

"She looks good," I said honestly. Then, carefully, I asked, "When was the last time you saw her?"

"Three years," Spot said, no longer meeting my eyes. "Three years, oh, four months."

"She doesn't come here? Not ever?"

"She never wanted to leave Elke alone," he said. I pulled my arms tighter around myself.

"Elke's gone, Spot," I said. He didn't answer. I wondered if he'd known. _Three years_, I thought, then remembered something, something that had been bothering me. Something that Swifty had been using lately to take a few cheap shots against me. "Spot," I said, trying to figure out the best way to word what I wanted to say. "Do you ever… I mean… three years… don't you find yourself, you know, forgetting?"

I had some fear that he would laugh at the question, but he just shook his head. "No," he said flatly. "Not for a minute." I nodded to myself, feeling a little… well, dumb. It was just one of those things. You spend too much time on this side, you forget about the Dark. Not that it exists, just… what happened. What you've done. Who you know. I hadn't though it was possible. Actually, when I'd left, over a year before, I'd hoped that I'd forget, and forget fast. But it doesn't work that way. It's like someone comes in and messes up your memories one by one, makes them all vague and fuzzy so when you have to use them, they're no good. We called it dismemory.

Swifty wouldn't leave me alone about that. He thought it meant I was too good for him and for the Dark. But really, that was just his own arrogance showing through. He thought that even if he lived on the Other side for the rest of his life, he would never forget a thing. I knew he was wrong, but what could I say? It could never be proved, not if he just hid in the Dark forever. There was only one person I knew of that had never forgotten a thing, and that was Mr. Kloppman, who ran our lodging house. Kloppman, who was paranoid and superstitious and grew all the worse with age, would probably argue that it was a curse rather than a blessing. So how could Spot…

"It's too much a part of me," he said after some reflection. "I guess. I'm not… I mean, this isn't my home, you know? I'm not meant to be here." He gestured around the street down which we walked. "I'm on vacation. Vacation, that's the one that fades from your mind." He stopped, then looked at me again with that same searching gaze. "Why, you having some trouble with dismemory?" he asked.

"Um, not really," I said with a shrug. "I mean, I guess. Swifty likes to harass me about it."

"Ah," he said with a nod, then, "so there's still bad blood between you two, eh?"

"Yeah, I guess," I said. "What do you know about it?"

"Only what Sofia told me," he said. "She used to write me letters," he explained, and added, "it's been awhile," in a voice so low and grim that I wasn't sure that I was supposed to hear it at all. "Here, stop."

We were in front of a large warehouse. I don't there was one unbroken window in the whole thing. Some of its bricks were missing, too, and there were no doors to speak of. Spot entered without hesitating, and I followed, trying my best to stay calm. It was a spooky place, completely dark and apparently empty. The only sound was the rain outside and on the roof, wherever that was. The silence was eerie, and I was convinced that we weren't alone in the building, but I saw nothing to prove otherwise. I almost jumped out of my skin when a gust of wind blew some of that rain in and on my arm, though.

Spot pulled a cobweb out of his hair and made for a door at the opposite end of the open room. We went down two sets of stairs, touching a wall to feel our way through. The darkness was so complete that I couldn't see my hand if it were right in front of my eyes, and that was more than enough to make me nervous. I just followed the scratching of Spot's shoes against the dirt floor and prayed that I wouldn't somehow be left behind.

I heard the sudden sound of metal being hit. Spot stopped abruptly and struck a match. I shied away from the sudden flare of light, and watched with an arm in front of my face as he held the match in one hand and attempted to pick the lock open with the other before the flame burned his fingertips. Somehow he succeeded, and I had to be a little impressed as the door swung soundlessly open.

"Wait here," he said, his voice surprisingly small in the pressing blackness. I waited with my back against the wall, putting on a brave face that no one could see anyway. I couldn't shake the feeling that bugs were crawling all over my skin, or that there was someone inches away from my face. In an attempt to combat this, I swung one arm around my body. No one there. Not inches away, at least. I shook my head, shuddered. Just when I thought I would probably go crazy in that damn cellar, I heard Spot return and close the door with a bang. Its lock clicked into place automatically, but he still tried the handle a few times. Then he laughed, a short, strange sound that was more disbelief than actual mirth.

"It's not like I'll need it anymore," he said, mostly to himself, I think, then felt his way around me and started back the way we had come. I followed closely behind and almost tripped up the steps once we reached them.

We crossed the ground floor quickly and were back out in the rain before I knew what had hit me. Spot shoved something into my hands, but didn't say a word about it. It was a box, dark, wooden, and flat. There was a lock on the front. I tucked it under my arm and hurried forward with my shoulders hunched against the rain. There would be time to inspect the object later, hopefully with the help of an explanation.

* * *

We arrived back at the shack on the docks and Spot burst through the door, almost stepping on Dutchy, who had been dozing on the floor. He jumped up, groggy and more than surprised, and then took a seat. Spot grabbed the other stool and I looked around for a moment, then sat against the wall. I let my head fall back and I closed my eyes briefly. I made myself a promise that once I got home for good, I would do nothing but sleep for a good three or four days straight.

Spot had reclaimed his box and now it balanced on his lap as he untangled something from around his neck. It was a bronze skeleton key on a long, twisted piece of twine, which he used to unlock the box. He flipped its lid open and took a quick glance at its contents, then passed the whole thing to me, key still in the lock. I looked inside. With barely any light in the shack, it was almost impossible to tell what I was looking at. Dutchy was leaning his chair forward, so I passed the box to him before he embarrassed himself by falling right over.

"Okay…" I said when it became evident that Spot wasn't planning on saying anything. "So, what is it?"

"It's a part of him," he said simply, voice and eyes low. "It will work for you, for your… effect."

"And… this isn't important to you?" I asked with a frown, thinking of the lengths we had gone just to get the damn thing.

"Of course it is," he snapped. "Why do you think I've held onto it for all these years, because it's pretty? It's my key to getting back in, at least right now." I reached forward and took the box back from Dutchy.

"Yeah," I said, "but what _is_ it?"

"Does it matter?" he asked with a sharp look. I shrugged nonchalantly and set the box at my feet. I closed its lid as an afterthought.

"When it's destroyed, he should be out of commission for a short time," he explained. "That's when I come in. Anytime other than now, I wouldn't have even told you about this. But I've been stalling for too long. I have what I need here. I have allies on the other side. Why not now?" He stood and started pacing again. "Why _not _now? I'll move fast, that sorry bastard…" He stopped to light himself a cigarette, and in the process must have forgotten his train of thought, because he turned and spoke to Dutchy directly.

"He must have done something real bad," he said. "Specs, I mean." Dutchy stiffened. "I mean, I dunno what happened. But Fever? That's tough, you know. That's real tough. You don't just do something like that if you're pissed at someone, right?" He paused. "Gotta wonder why he didn't just kill the kid, though." Dutchy said nothing.

"We don't know what happened," I said. Both ignored me. I tried again, wanting to hear what Spot had to say, even if it was just speculation. "Besides, he wasn't there long enough to piss anyone off. I mean, how do you even do that? How do you get close to Brooklyn?"

"You _don't_ get close to Brooklyn," Spot hissed, stepping up real close to me. His words echoed what Swifty had said a few days earlier, but they had been talking about two completely different people. I got the uncomfortable feeling that I'd just crossed some imaginary line, and picked up the box lest he try to take it back. He watched my actions and took a step back, sucking hard on his smoke.

"You should probably get going," he said plainly. "I expect you'll wait until morning to get after Sofia." When neither of us answered, he added an extra "yeah?"

"Yeah," I said dully, "yeah, of course." We would have gone after her anyway, but now we couldn't waste any time, or Spot would be on us in a flash. We didn't even know where she was. We had overstayed our welcome, though, so we made for the door.

Spot, who must have been reading my thoughts, let us out and clapped me on the back as I stepped through. "I'm sure you'll find a way," he said with false cheer. He closed the door at Dutchy's heels and we were left there, soaked to the bone in the darkness of unfriendly territory.

"Let's go then, lads," said a tired voice from my right. Dibs had reappeared and beckoned for us to come with him. I guessed he was our escort, and was a little relieved. I hugged the box tight to my chest and the three of us left the docks without any other words between us. As we walked, I noticed more and more boys going in the opposite direction. _He's rallying the troops_, I thought. And I realized then that this was about to get a lot bigger than a Fever and a Cure. I guess it already was.

* * *

It was near dawn when we emerged on the Manhattan side of the bridge, exhausted and footsore. The city's early birds were just starting to stir, but all I wanted to do was curl up on a comfortable piece of sidewalk and forget about everything for a few wonderful hours. To make matters worse, the box I was carrying seemed to get heavier and heavier with each step. Still, I didn't dare set it down.

I almost dropped it, though, when we came around the next corner and saw that sitting on a stoop enjoying a smoke was none other than… Snoddy?

He jumped to his feet as soon as he saw us, and his demeanor changed completely. He was clearly paranoid about something, and had dark bags under his eyes. I could see that his cigarette trembled in his hands as he walked to meet us.

"Good to see you," I offered with a halfhearted smile. True, it was good to see the kid – by all accounts, he'd gone missing sometime last week – but I had a feeling that Snoddy would be bringing us nothing but bad news. Why else would he just show up like this?

"Yeah," he said dismissively. "Come on, walk with me."

"What's wrong?" I asked after a few beats. I just needed to get straight to it. He seemed relieved that he wouldn't have to engage in any small talk. He didn't bother to ask about the Cure or talk about Specs… he probably didn't really care. Snoddy was always sullen, and a little narcissistic, and probably thought that he'd been tricked into helping, anyway.

"I heard about Sofia," he said, walking quickly. I figured I had to take two strides for his every one, and I wasn't happy about it. Damn his long legs.

"What about her."

"She… Iceman has her, Race."

I stopped short in the middle of the sidewalk, but Snoddy just kept walking. I rolled my eyes and jogged to catch up. "How… oh." I'd completely forgotten – Snoddy had been working for Iceman for years, now, ever since he was even shorter than me. I didn't know where he stood in their hierarchy over there, but it must have been fairly high for him to have information like that.

"I'll be seein ya," he said, and I slowed my pace to allow him to leave us. He turned at the next block, and that was the end of it.

"Shit Race, I'm sorry, but I'm so confused right now," Dutchy said at my side.

"Um, yeah," I said, distracted and staring off in the direction that Snoddy had gone. "Dutch, you got a smoke?"

"…What? No."

"Snoddy works for the Iceman," I explained. "We only have a few blocks to go… anyway, I dunno how he found out, but… we have to trust him. It's the only lead we have."

"So he's still working for that guy?" Dutchy asked.

"What? Yeah, I mean, why not?"

"Well, I thought that Kid Blink had blown your cover. With the whole scar thing."

"Oh, well… I guess that's another thing you don't know."

"About what? About Snoddy?"

"About Snoddy. His… you know, his power or what have you. He can, I don't know, heal himself… like…" I tapped the scar below my ear, which was still pink and quite hard to hide. "He doesn't have this. You probably didn't notice. But… yeah. Just about anything short of death, he deals with it. Who knows how, but… that's the way it is."

I left it at that. I didn't need to get into anything else. Snoddy, he hated it. It had caused all that sullenness, that narcissism, that paranoia. He was used so badly on the other side, he had no faith in anyone. He was eternally being sacrificed for the betterment of someone else, and it had quickly taken its toll on him.

It was the kind of thing that got real depressing if you paused to think about it, so I was glad when I saw the pub I had been looking for and was able to take myself away from my thoughts.

"Come on," I said to Dutchy, "we're getting back through here."

Despite the hour, the door was open. The place was deserted save for a burly man enjoying a mug of coffee at the bar. He gave us a quick once over, then just nodded and went back to his brew. I showed Dutchy to the back of the pub, where there was an innocent looking door with a dull brass knob.

"Ladies first," I said weakly. He ignored me and opened the door, stepping into what appeared to be some sort of small closet. I turned and tipped my hat to the guard at the bar, who just raised an eyebrow. Holding the box tightly, I stepped through and closed the door behind me.

"Ah, fuck _me_," said Dutchy.


	23. history

**note: **You guys will have to let me know if I pulled this chapter off or not. Unfortunately, life gets ridiculously busy for me starting today, so I don't know if I'll be able to do weekly updates for a few weeks... but I certainly hope so! Writing is always very therapeutic for me. Special thanks go to Falco for helping me through a truly awful weekend. You are my favorite. And maybe things are looking up.

**twenty-three: **history.

* * *

My knees hit the ground hard, but that pain was the last thing on my mind as I clung to the floor's soft wood for support for my spinning head. I couldn't get my eyes to focus, everything was a fuzzy; Dutchy was a light blur to my right who sounded like he was throwing up every last one of his organs.

I was covered in a cold sweat and trying to stay at least semi-upright against the sudden flashes of pain in my head. I almost wished I would just pass out, but that was not a good idea, considering that I had no idea where we were. I couldn't get a hold of myself to even look around what I figured was a very small room. It was hot, and dusty, and I sneezed a few times, glad at least that there was a window, and that there was some amount of sun and I didn't have to deal with the darkness like at that warehouse with Spot. I groaned, my stomach flipping and sweat dripping into my eyes.

I gave up and flopped on my side, cradling my head with shaky hands. Dutchy crawled over to me, unable to catch his breath.

"Race," he gasped, still on his hands and knees. I didn't have the strength to talk. Slowly and painfully we made our way over to a wall and propped ourselves against it, exhausted. I groaned again.

It was my fault, but then again, what else were we supposed to do? We couldn't have stayed on the Other side, not without losing valuable time in the Dark. We had to cross back over, but crossing over twice within a matter of hours had had just the sort of effects I had warned Dutchy about – and now he got to experience them firsthand.

"How long does this last?" he got out, panting. He must have remembered… that was good, because there was no way I was going to waste my breath explaining it again. I shook my head, eyes closed.

"Dunno."

"What?"

"Depends. Just… shut up."

We sat like that, recuperating and just watching people go past the room's lone window for a good half hour before I had enough energy to stand. I did so, leaning heavily on the wall for support, and let myself out the door. I looked up and down the street and realized that we were less than a block away from the Brick.

"Oh," I said, feeling incredibly lucky. The door we'd gone through was controlled by Spot and his minions, and because I'd only used it rarely, I hadn't really remembered where it might spit us out. Now that I looked around, however, everything did look familiar. Sure, with that door you ended up in a tiny, dust filled room, but at least it was the same tiny, dust filled room every time.

"Do we have to go?" Dutchy asked, sounding just about as pathetic as I felt.

"The Brick is just a short walk away," I said, leaning against the doorframe and taking a deep breath. The floor was still spinning. I needed to lie down, but I didn't feel safe enough to just fall asleep in this room. I doubted that the outside door locked, and some people in the Dark liked nothing more than to take advantage of someone experiencing this… sicknesss. "We should go… we can do it."

He grumbled something that I couldn't hear and pulled himself up. "Let's get this over with," he sighed.

We stumbled out the door and went down the street, holding ourselves up and generally just looking completely drunk off our asses. This was almost funny, considering that it was early afternoon.

"Break time," Dutchy announced once we'd reached the front of the Brick. I didn't argue. We sat against the wall, eyes closed. I wiped sweat off my forehead, marveling at how bright it was that day. My head was still pounding, my stomach dangerously uneasy. How long _would_ this condition last? I couldn't remember the last time I'd gotten sick like this from crossing over. It was like drinking, really. When you were young and just trying everything out, you figured out what your limit was. Some people could cross over more often than others. I didn't know anyone else like Blink, who could do it whenever he wanted without any ill effects.

What had my limit been? I struggled with dismemory to call it up in my mind. Three days? Two? A week? No, not that long. I'd felt fine – Dutchy had, too – when we crossed to meet Spot, and we'd been in the Dark for… I stopped, dragging a sleeve across my forehead again. Too much thinking. It was making me even more queasy.

"Let's go," I said, glaring toward the door. I would have to climb those steps in a few seconds. "Blondie's probably been wondering where we were, anyway."

"You go," Dutchy said, waving his hand weakly. "I'll… I'll keep watch."

"Get up," I said, kicking him half-heartedly. "I want to sleep, and I want you to be around when I wake up. Which will hopefully be sometime next week."

"Shouldn't we tell Swifty about what Snoddy said?" Dutch asked as we fought to get through the inn's door.

"Yeah, go right ahead," I snorted. "It can wait. She's safe."

"How do you know? You guys said that the Iceman was…"

"I just know, okay? Just… know things like that."

"…you thought she was dead in the beginning and she was fine…"

I ignored that last comment and rested my elbows on the front desk. Blondie was nowhere to be seen, but she would probably be back soon. He was right. I'd been just as surprised as anyone else – except Swifty – when Sofia turned up alive. But I'd been in shock… right? Either way, I was in no condition to make the trip to Swifty's, and neither was Dutchy, so it would have to wait.

Blondie returned about a minute later, coming from the bar and shouting something over her shoulder, so she didn't see us until she was almost on top of us. She stopped short when she recognized my face and her eyes widened just a little.

"Kid, you gotta leave," she said, backing a few steps away.

"Me?" I asked in disbelief. "What?"

"Get out of here," she repeated with a shake of her head. "They're looking for you. Just leave."

"Wha – who's looking for us?" I demanded, taking a step toward her. But Blondie turned around.

"Leave," she said once more, firmly. "Don't tell me where you're going, I'm not even gonna look. Get outta here!"

I took another step forward, but Dutchy caught my elbow and gave me a warning look.

"Come on," he said, and I reluctantly followed him out the door. We took a right and walked quickly. Dutchy glanced over his shoulder a few times before I noticed and snapped at him.

"No one's following us," I said darkly. "Not right now."

"Are we going back to Swifty's?"

"Yeah."

"Don't we usually go the other way?"

"Yeah."

"…so…"

"…so we're going a different way, okay? Maybe it'll throw them off, maybe it won't. Either way we'll end up back at Swifty's, and if they know about the Brick, they probably know about Swifty, too, so I guess it doesn't make much difference, right? No difference besides maybe buying us some time."

"And who's they?" Dutchy asked without missing a beat.

"I don't know," I said automatically. I took a few deep breaths, but the stale city air did nothing to quiet my stomach or my head, which was still unsteady. I paused at the next street corner and leaned against a brick building, exhausted and achy. Dutchy didn't look much better.

"Break?" he asked hopefully. I didn't really hear him, though, I was still thinking about his last question.

"Brooklyn, maybe," I said, resting my forehead against the cool bricks. "Or maybe whoever has Sofia. Iceman. Yeah. I dunno." I took another deep breath, then pushed off from the wall and continued at our earlier pace. "No break," I said.

* * *

We walked, stopping periodically to regain our breath, for I guess almost two hours before we reached Swifty's street. I'd rarely been so happy to see his house as I was then. He had the door open right after I knocked and almost pulled us in. We went into the main room and I set the box on the table in front of the couch, glad to finally put it down.

"What's that?" Swifty asked quickly. I just shrugged.

"Good question. See for yourself. Spot said it would work, said it was… a part of him. Of Brooklyn, I mean." It was only then that I noticed that Spot's key was still in the lock. It was almost fitting – we had his key, and he had kept Sofia's locket.

Swifty eyed the box but made no move to look inside. I took advantage of the lapse and laid on the couch, closing my eyes with a heavy sigh. Dutchy collapsed into one of the chairs and groaned appreciatively.

"Start from the beginning," Swifty said, taking a mug from the mantle and standing in front of the unlit fireplace with a frown. He did not look good. I didn't know how Dutch and I looked, but it couldn't have been worse than Swifty. His eyes were red, his hair all over the place, his clothes rumpled and a little askew. He wasn't Swifty; he wasn't put together, casual in a purposeful way. He was lost, and he smelled like booze.

"I guess Sofia didn't turn up," Dutchy said. Swifty ignored him.

"I showed Dibs the locket and we got to see Spot," I said, wanting to tell the story as quickly as possible so I could _sleep_. "Spot didn't want to talk. He looked busy… distracted. Same thing, though, I gave him the locket and suddenly he found the time."

Swifty smirked a little at that. "Yeah."

"Well he wanted to know what was wrong, where she was, all that. Of course, I mean, we don't know – we didn't know."

"What?" Swifty asked, coming forward. He moved the box and sat on the table so he was only about a foot away from me. "Didn't? Do you know now?"

"Let me tell the story," I said.

"I don't give a fuck about your story-" Swifty began, but I continued on anyway.

"So we tell Spot everything that's been going on and he takes me to this weird empty warehouse place. It was dark, real dark, and we went into the basement and got this box. The key to unlock it was around his neck. He was real protective of the thing, and didn't really want to give it up. He said he'd had it ever since he was exiled. Said it was his key to getting back in power in the Dark."

Swifty took another look at the box but still didn't touch it.

"I guess he figured that if it would be destroyed when we made the Cure… well, it was just the same as him destroying it himself, or whatever he had planned to do. So, now, we do it. And he'll be ready. Said he'd been stalling. Yeah. He's ready."

"Spot's coming back?"

"Soon."

He nodded.

"So on our way back we ran into Snoddy. It definitely wasn't an accident, though. The kid was, like… waiting for us. Dunno how he knew, it's Snoddy. Snoddy says that his boss – Iceman – has Sofia."

"Iceman," Swifty repeated.

"Yeah," I said. "And that's it. He split right after, and then we came back over."

"You guys are in rough shape," Swifty said, standing and giving me more room. He turned so we wouldn't see his smirk, which was very kind of him. I glowered anyway.

"Yeah," I said, "well, we weren't thinking. Not that it would have mattered. We didn't have the time to hang out on the Other side for a day or two. And Dutch doesn't even know his limits."

"Are you going to tell him about Blondie?" Dutchy asked, probably to get the focus off of him and his inexperience.

"You go ahead," I answered, closing my eyes again. I didn't think it was that important, and I was glad to stop talking. I heard Swifty finally take a seat.

"Who's Blondie?" asked Swifty.

"She, um… she's the red head at the desk at the Brick," Dutchy said.

"Oh, yeah," said Swifty, but I don't know if he actually remembered.

"Anyways… we tried to get into the Brick for the night, but Blondie pushed us out. Said someone was looking for us. 'They.' We dunno who 'they' is, though. So we came here instead. Anyways, I thought we should tell you. Cause, you know, they'd probably be looking here, too. Or that's what Race said," he added.

"You went to the Brick before here?" Swifty asked, sounding amused. I didn't have to open my eyes to know that he was actually seething. He didn't like that we were going to stay the night somewhere else – and thus put off telling him what we know about Sofia's whereabouts – and he was right. It was a dumb decision, but it didn't matter anymore. We were here. And he knew what we knew.

"We were in rough shape," I reminded him in a poor attempt at an excuse.

"Um, we are going to be okay, right?" Dutchy asked, returning to his last point. "I mean… will they come looking here?"

"It doesn't matter," Swifty said offhandedly. "They can't… we're fine here. Race when were you planning on leaving?"

"For Sofia? Um… not now?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Swifty," I said, sitting up and wincing. "We need rest. Badly. We need to sleep the night away. We can leave early in the morning, fine. But we won't make any progress if we leave right now, feeling like we do. Come on. You know this. It's just one night."

Swifty nodded slowly, looking anxious and a little irritated. "Go to bed, then," he said, standing and walking to the kitchen. I twisted around to look at Dutchy, who just shrugged.

"Alright," I said, getting up slowly. I was dizzy and my vision kept fading dangerously. At this moment, the stairs were absolutely not my friend. Once I reached the door, I gave up my dignity and crawled up, anticipating the bed that awaited me. Below, I could hear Dutchy struggling after me, but, louder than that, was the banging of pots and pans and who knows what else in the kitchen. It sounded like it was going to be another long night for Swifty.

* * *

If I thought that I was going to be able to drop right off to sleep, I was wrong. Apparently, Dutchy was feeling better, because as soon as we were both settled in bed, I heard him turn over and I could just feel his eyes on me.

"What?" I said flatly, hoping whatever he wanted would be quick and easy to take care of.

He didn't answer for a few moments, and when he finally spoke up, his voice was quiet. "Is he okay?"

I frowned and turned so I was facing in his direction. "Who? Swifty?" I asked, my voice dropping, too.

"Yeah. He's just… he's a lot different than when we first got here, you know?" I didn't comment. "Is it… is it because of Sofia? Do they… I mean, and Spot…" he trailed off, and right then I gave up on the fantasy that I would get much sleep. Because holding out on Dutch just wouldn't be fair. By this point, after all that we'd dealt with… well, I guess he had a right to know. Everything. So… how to start?

"It's not just Sofia," I said finally. "He's… he's unpredictable, you know? He's like a bomb, just waiting to go off. I guess Sofia was the spark." I fell silent.

"So I guess he wasn't always like this, then, huh?"

"Nah," I said softly. When I didn't continue, Dutchy's voice grew hard.

"I'm not stupid Race, okay? I mean, I don't know much about the Dark. But that doesn't mean I can't read people, and it doesn't mean I don't notice what's going on around me. Swifty let us in that day even though it was dangerous. He wanted to help me – we barely knew each other, and he clearly didn't like you. So why did he still do it? And why is he still mean to you? And why did you come here if you knew he would act this way?"

"That's a lot of questions," I said. This time it was Dutchy who refused to comment. He expected answers. I sighed. "I'll tell you a story, Dutch, but you can't interrupt. I'll try to answer your questions, but you have to give me time."

"I'm listening.'  
"Alright." I let out another big breath and squeezed my eyes shut. This was exactly the type of thing I'd been trying to avoid for the past year or so.

"Swifty and I were never close at the Lodging House," I began, eyes still closed. "We knew each other, of course. And I knew that he spent time in the Dark. So did his… girl. Maddie." I had to stop already and collect my thoughts, but true to his promise, Dutchy didn't say a word. "Sometimes we ran into each other there – I mean, here. We were friendly, always got along. Sometimes we'd have a beer together. He was a fun kid, you know? Always quick to smile. Real sarcastic – dry humored, I guess, because he was never mean. His girl, his… Maddie, she was an angel. She was the best part of him.

"It was weird for awhile, I mean we saw each other more and more in the Dark but barely exchanged words on the Other side. We were both doing a lot of work in the Dark, so it was just as well, and we grew closer. That's how I met Sofia. She was close with them.

"Something happened. Nothing is ever stable here in the Dark, there's always some battle or feud going on… it's just a matter of scale. How big it is, who is involved. Well, something happened one day when we were on this side, and all the doors – the gateways that we've been using? They all stopped working.

"That alone was enough of a reason to panic. Sure, we spent a lot of time here, but no one wanted to be stuck in the Dark. Especially not after you reach that age, whatever it is, and suddenly you ain't as useful as you used to be, right? Anyway, everyone was real upset about that. No one we talked to could remember it ever having happened before.

"We figured we would just wait it out. And we did, for a little while. But the doors had been closed purposefully. A lot of people… powerful people… were angry at each other. Things started getting… a little out of control. And soon no one who had ties to the Other side wanted to be in the Dark. It was dangerous. If you weren't already on a side, you were basically assigned to one. And no one wanted to be fighting for something they didn't even understand.

"And that… believe it or not… is when things got bad." I stopped here to take a break and catch my breath. Luckily my head was feeling a lot better, or else I wouldn't have even made it that far in the story. It hurt, though; it ached to say the words. And it was only going to get harder. But Dutchy was silent, rapt with attention.

"Maddie had a power like the rest of us. She could open doors. I don't know why we didn't just leave in the beginning, when we realized what was happening. It was hard for her, though, and she didn't really like doing it. And I guess we didn't want to bring attention to ourselves… that was even more true as time went on, because bringing attention to ourselves meant getting caught.

"Finally, though, we decided to just do it and try to get away. But then… then Maddie was kidnapped. Right out from under us.

"We went after her, of course, and that's a whole other story. We caused a lot of trouble, but we got her. Well…

"The way things worked, we had this plan, this perfect plan. Damned if I can remember the details, but Swifty had recently gotten this house and the last part of the deal would be that he would be waiting here for her. The house wasn't a permanent thing, though. That I do remember. It was a place where we could all lay low, maybe where Maddie could open a door if we ever felt safe enough. But… that's not the story.

"I was supposed to bring Maddie to Swifty. God, were we glad to see each other." Here I hesitated only the slightest bit, telling myself, _if I just say it, and I say it fast, that's it, it's over, he'll know… it's over…_ "We never got to Swifty's. They… I don't know who… I can't remember, or I won't… if it's who had her, or the other side, but they caught up. They caught up to us and they killed her. They killed her right in front of me. They didn't even look at me, but they… I can't… I couldn't move after… I couldn't blink… It… It wasn't just a shot in the head, Dutch, they…

"…When I could function again, I left. I just left. I went across the city, and once the problem was fixed, I went to the Other side and I never looked back. I went back to the Lodging House and just tried to forget. Swifty knew where to find me, but he didn't. He hasn't left the Dark since."

There was a long, long silence. Maybe Dutchy still thought that he couldn't ask any questions, or that I wasn't done with my story. So I added a little more explanation.

"That's why Swifty hates me, Dutch. It's not just because Maddie died. That was more grief than anything, at least at first… at least from what I heard. Swifty hates me because I left. Because I left, and I never even told him. Swifty hates me because I ran away. I ran away, but he's been hiding here ever since."

"And coming with me… that was the first time you'd seen him?" Dutchy asked.

"Yeah."

"So… I know I already asked this, but… why did he help? He didn't owe me anything, and hated… hates… you."

"Because," I said, "It's you. It's you and Specs." The connection didn't take long to dawn on him.

"Maddie was his Love," he said, sounding almost in awe. He didn't meet people like him and Specs often. No one did. It wasn't a common thing, this 'Love' business. Some people didn't even think it was real, but I'd had more than enough experience to believe in it.

"Maddie was his Love," I echoed sorrowfully.

After that, we were both silent. But silence is not one of Dutchy's strong points.

"And Sofia?" he asked.

"They're like brother and sister. Sofia, she's been with Spot for a while, and nobody is gonna touch that because nobody is gonna mess with Spot. But Swifty, you know… for him it's just like a nightmare. He loses Maddie, he loses Sofia. It brings up all that stuff, the stuff I left to forget. He's been dwelling in it for… well, years, in Dark time."

Dutchy thought about this. "And he kept the house?"

"Yeah, he kept the house. Fixed it up some."

"Oh."

"Listen, do me a favor… just… don't mention any of this, right? Don't say the name Maddie. Don't… just don't bring it up."

"Yeah, of course. Do you… do you think maybe he'll ever forgive you?"

I didn't answer for a while. Dutchy probably figured I'd fallen asleep, but finally, because I truly didn't know how to answer, I rolled back over and said,

"Do you?"


	24. ice

**note:** Woww, I'm so glad to finally be posting more Epic! I haven't had ANY time to write in the past three weeks, which was pretty depressing, especially after going for six weeks with writing 1,000 words a day! But now I'm finally getting my life back, so I can get this thing finished. There are only four more chapters left... yikes! **  
**

**twenty-four: **ice

* * *

Swifty didn't waste any time. I felt like I had just barely closed my eyes when I was pulled from bed and dragged down those steep stairs. It was light outside, but only just. The ever present cloud cover was bright gray that made my eyes sting when I looked at it out the window. Still, anything was better than rain.

Dutchy and I were marched, still half asleep, out the door and down the block. No breakfast. No coffee. I didn't have enough energy to complain, and Dutchy, who was stumbling in his drowsiness, either didn't notice or didn't feel comfortable talking to Swifty after what I'd told him the night before. There was nothing I could do about that. It wasn't like Swifty came off as the villain in that story, anyway. But Dutch didn't seem to regard me any differently. I was grateful for that. Maybe he could teach our Asian friend a lesson in that sense.

We didn't talk, which wasn't a surprise to me. I was still feeling a little nauseous from our adventure the day before and my feet dragged with exhaustion. I was trying as hard as I could not to let my eyelids fall, but they were so heavy. Dutchy was in his own world, staring at his boots as he walked, and taking his glasses off every block or so to rub slowly at his eyes.

Swifty walked ahead of us, setting a fast pace that I had little hope of keeping up with. He looked… the same as he had lately. If I thought I was tired, then he was the walking dead. I didn't know where his energy came from. He hadn't slept for several nights and as far as I knew was living off a diet of oatmeal and rum. He hadn't said a word to us that morning. He walked; we followed.

In his way, I figured he thought that everything that had happened to Sofia was our fault. Indirectly, I guess he was right. But we were still here, and he was still helping, and we were just as driven to find her as he. The only difference was that we weren't crazy.

Like Spot's Brooklyn, the section of the city controlled by the Iceman was well marked. There weren't signs, or gates, but everyone knew. It wasn't necessarily a place to be avoided, but you did have to be careful. Iceman and his workers knew every body that passed through those streets. If they didn't like what they saw, you were out, hopefully with just a warning. I knew that we would not be alone in his territory for long. We would be recognized and probably questioned. Unless Swifty was involved with something I didn't know about (which was possible), we had a clean case before us. The only question was if Iceman would see us. If he wouldn't, well, then we would have a little more of a challenge.

Swifty's mouth was set in a determined line. Suddenly I could see exactly how things would go. We would stride across the border with a purpose, eyes scanning for someone to take us in. There would be no false pretenses, no feigned innocence or ignorance. We were here for a reason, and, truly, we had no time to waste. And maybe, just maybe, that confidence could get us in the same room as Iceman.

And then what? I was so preoccupied with worrying about seeing him at all that I realized that I had no idea what we would say to convince him to give Sofia back to us. As we hurried across a busy intersection near the border, I resigned myself to assuming that Swifty had thought of something – what else would he have been doing during those long nights, anyway?

Swifty didn't hesitate before crossing the final street, but he did pause long enough to turn and jab his finger into Dutchy's chest, saying, "Keep quiet." I expected the same warning, and was ready to retort with a hearty "fuck you," but instead he ignored me and went forward. Dutchy and I exchanged a mutually exasperated glance and hurried after him.

The difference between Iceman and Brooklyn was this: Brooklyn basically oversaw, well, his whole borough, and if you decided to live there, you were under his control. Loosely. He wasn't peeking in your windows and he probably didn't even know who you were, but if he wanted something from you, you better damn well pony up and help out. Iceman controlled a much smaller area, but the place was in his complete control. The streets weren't deserted and the buildings weren't empty, but the only people that lived there were the ones that worked for Iceman – and their families, if they had any. So, while strangers were allowed to pass through on business or as a shortcut, they didn't go unnoticed, because they just didn't belong.

We did not belong. Eyes followed us as we walked, in fact we barely made it a block before someone stepped out in front of us, arms crossed in front of their chest and a mean look in their eye. I didn't recognize the guy, but Swifty did.

"And what do you want?" he drawled, taking his time to study us up and down.

"We want to see him," Swifty growled, stepping forward to suggest that he wouldn't take no for an answer. The other man, however, stood his ground, seemingly unimpressed.

"Well then. How 'bout maybe you say please?"

"How 'bout you go fuck yourself."

I couldn't help it, I sighed aloud. That was really, really not going to help us at all. The stranger didn't think so, either. His eyes narrowed and he got even closer to Swifty.

"Listen hard, Li, you can the attitude and tell me what you want with the Iceman or you turn and walk back the way you came before I change my mind and use a better idea."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see a few figures creeping closer, either curious or wanting in on the action. I shifted my feet and cleared my throat quietly, but, as usual, I was ignored.

"My business ain't with you, Macalester," Swifty spat. His hands were hanging at his side, and I noticed for the first time that one of them was trembling. I frowned. I doubted that it was because he was nervous. "Get us in so I don't have to waste my energy making you regret it."

Tough talk, but the thing was, Swifty was clearly on edge and even I wasn't sure when he would snap. And the man – Macalester – finally saw that. He stopped glaring long enough to actually look in Swifty's eyes, and to see his hair and clothes, and maybe even his shaking hands. He dropped back a step – slowly, causally – and switched his gaze to me.

"Don't waste his time," he said scornfully, then unlocked a door in the building to our left with a wary glance at Swifty and all but pushed us inside. The door slammed shut behind us and we were left with just a wide staircase. It was covered in some sort of Oriental runner, which was impressive, but not worth commenting on in the present circumstances.

"Do you often get away with shit because you're insane?" I asked instead, expecting to be ignored. I was not disappointed. Dutchy, for his part, remained quiet and cool at the back of our little group. I was in a bad mood, but at least I was ready to argue.

* * *

I guess Swifty knew were he was going, because he stormed past an almost quaint little reception room and just about busted down a tall, dark door. It withstood his first attack, but not his second, and so we filed in despite frantic protests from the girl outside.

This was it.

The room was… rich, to say the least. My feet actually sank into a huge Persian rug that almost covered the entire shiny, hardwood floor from the open door to Iceman's desk, where he sat, completely unimpressed. He didn't even look up when we barged in. Dutchy closed the door gently behind us.

Iceman's desk was very large and covered with an array of papers. Because he was taking his time in recognizing us, I took a moment to look around the room more. There were no windows – too risky – but still plenty of light was to be had, most of it from expensive looking lamps and one hanging chandelier. Large, detailed paintings covered the walls, and, about ten yards behind his desk, two floor to ceiling bookcases stood packed with thick volumes. Separating them was a polished grandfather clock, its pendulum swinging silently.

Now that I had finished my study, I felt more than a little awkward. Swifty was staring intently at the top of Iceman's head, which was bent over as he wrote something. Remarkably, Dutchy was still playing the part of a ghost pretty well. Iceman signed his paper with a flourish and finally graced us with his attention.

The first thing I noticed were his eyes. They were a striking green, almost as sharp as Spot's. His hair was dark and close cut, he had a full beard, but this, too, was cropped. He made a steeple of his fingers in front of his face and looked at us expectantly.

"Swifty," he said, and his voice was as clipped as his hair, "I really do not have the time for this."

"No?" Swifty challenged, stepping forward. _Here we go_, I thought. "You don't have the time for me, but you have the time for her, right?"

"Now, just what are you talking about?"

Swifty didn't bother to answer that, instead he crossed the remaining distance between himself and the desk in a few long strides and I'm pretty sure was about to vault right over when someone came from the side of the room and intercepted him. I blinked a few times – I hadn't even known anyone else was with us. I guess that was the point, but it still unnerved me. Quickly, I did a spin, trying to see who else was hiding. Again, I didn't notice anyone, but I was pretty sure this guy wasn't alone. Our new guest remained, and I was almost amused (almost) to see that it was Snoddy. He didn't even glance at Dutchy or I, and luckily Dutchy didn't betray himself. Snoddy just looked plainly at Swifty, who glared daggers back. Neither said a word.

Iceman stood and nodded to Snoddy. "Michael," he said as a dismissal, and Snoddy turned from Swifty, squared his shoulders, and backed a few steps away. He remained in sight, though – a reminder. I realized then, maybe for the first time, that Snoddy was a pretty big guy. Tall, at least… and taller than Swifty, who was still staring at him.

Swifty broke his gaze a moment later and focused back on Iceman. Iceman was watching Dutchy, who was looking at the floor.

"This isn't a game," Swifty hissed.

Iceman sighed and leaned back in his chair, eyes moving to me, and then to Swifty. He folded his hands in his lap.

"She's fine, you know," he said finally. Swifty didn't flinch. Then I saw one of his hands clench into a fist. Snoddy also took note, and sent him a warning glance. Swifty ran his other hand through his hair and then let it hang from his neck. Yeah, the kid was losing it. "I understand you want her back," Iceman continued, "but I really just can't give her up. You see, Sofia… Sofia is like a lever. She fits perfectly into this… this space. She can pry up some things that I just can't. Not alone, at least."

I frowned. I wasn't following.

"This is not a game," Swifty said again, with effort. "Do not play games with us."

"Let me paint you a picture," Iceman interrupted, regarding us coolly. "We will play a game, we'll play connect the dots. Sofia means something to Conlon; a big something. Brooklyn is still too paranoid about Conlon to leave his stronghold. Brooklyn is a pain in my ass.

"Sofia means a lot to Brooklyn. Of course, he thinks she's dead. He tried to kill her to get a hand up on Conlon. He failed. Now I have her, which gives me the advantage on the sorry bastard." He paused a second, and added, "and Conlon, too, I suppose." He shrugged nonchalantly. "So, you see, I really cannot part with her. She's safe. She'll be well taken care of."

Swifty seethed. My frowned deepened. It made sense, but there was something missing. There was a big hole in his story, and the strange thing was, he didn't seem to be aware of it.

I opened my mouth to speak for the first time, but Swifty cut in before I could draw a breath.

"Who is she – who am I – to trust you? We don't know she'll be safe. She's safe with us…" Iceman raised an eyebrow. His cronies had stolen her away, after all. "…and we want her back. We didn't come here to bargain."

But I had. Iceman's gaze flickered over to me and stayed, I think he saw something in my eyes. Swifty had apparently forgotten that Dutchy and I were there, because he half turned in surprise.

"You mean that this has nothing to do with Fever?" I asked. Iceman slowly straightened, actually not bothering to hide his curiousity.

"What?" he asked. "What about Fever?"

Swifty was sending me looks that clearly said 'cease and desist,' but I didn't pay any attention. "This whole thing," I continued, "Brooklyn trying to kill Sofia, everything – it's not just because of Conlon. Sofia was going to help us. We were going to her to help us with a Cure, because… one of our friends was cursed. Brooklyn burned down her shop because he didn't want her to help us."

Iceman tapped a finger on his chin. "Who would Brooklyn care about so much? I don't understand it."

"I don't…" I hesitated. Iceman was being rarely candid right now, but I wasn't sure how far I could push it. "I don't understand how you didn't know about this," I said. "I mean… we thought it was something small at first, and that I would get. But it's not. There's something bigger at work, something that has to explain why he would go to so much effort to take down one street rat kid.

"I mean, I just thought that most of the warlords shared information. You know, to a point."

Iceman was clearly troubled, and now I was really interested. Why hadn't Brooklyn told him – or maybe anyone else – about the situation? If he'd wanted something minor taken care of, something he apparently wasn't able to do on his own… that's exactly where enlisting the other leaders came in.

"Fever," Iceman said, with just a hint of disbelief in his careful voice. I decided to take advantage of catching him off guard. I took a step forward so that I was in line with Swifty.

"Brooklyn wanted Sofia gone because somehow he knew that she was going to help us. She still needs to help us. The boy isn't dead yet, but it's only a matter of days… hell, hours, maybe. He needs us, and we need Sofia. We are so, so close. I have to ask you – please. I understand that having her puts you in a fine place, but over the past few days I've just begun to realize that this thing… this whole thing… I think it has bigger consequences than just the life of one newsie. Brooklyn's up to something. He's gotta be, or else he wouldn't have gone to all this trouble to silence one voice, and he wouldn't have kept quiet about his suspicions, his problems..." I bit my tongue. My voice had begun to creep into desperation, but it was only echoing the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Iceman looked up at me, nodding slowly. "What does she have to do?" he asked finally, and his voice was tired.

"She just has to mix the antidote," I said, trying not to let the relief show in my voice. "We have all the ingredients, everything. It's all safe at Swifty's house. She just has to put it together, then we go back to the Other side and in theory… everything is fine."

He nodded again. "I think you're right," he said. "Christ, I hate to admit it, but I do think you're right. I will allow you to take her home so you can finish this… mess. I trust you'll keep her out of trouble this time?" he asked, glancing sharply at Swifty. Swifty glared back. "Use one of my gates to get to the Other side," he said, again addressing me. "That way, you won't be followed. I'll send word to the guards. Where does Swifty live?"

Another glare from his direction. I told Iceman anyway.

"You know the bridge between Elcano and Free?" he asked after thinking for a moment.

"Yes."

"You know the door, then?"

"Yes," I said, nodding slightly. I'd walked over the bridge a number of times but I'd never used the gateway before. Iceman had controlled it for a long time.

"Good." He sighed quietly, then stood and gave a short nod of his head. "Michael," he said, "please escort them out. Good day." He nodded once more and then sat back down and reached for a new paper, and so we left the room with it looking identical as when we'd first entered.

Snoddy brought us through the building and down the stairs, not saying a word or meeting anyone's eyes. He was holding tightly onto Swifty's elbow, as if he would try something. Once we got to the street, Swifty yanked his arm away, making sure to shoulder Snoddy a little as he did so. Snoddy just ignored him and disappeared back inside. A moment later, a stranger emerged from a different door with Sofia in tow.

"I'll follow you home," he said in a tone that told us it was no use arguing. Sofia glared at him and strode up next to me. I was so glad to see her that I actually smiled a little, and she smiled cautiously back.

Swifty ignored her, so, after frowning at the back of his head for a few seconds, she returned the favor. She reached for Dutchy's hand and gave it a little squeeze, and he smiled weakly in return. But his eyes and his attention were focused on Swifty. I knew he was thinking about what I'd told him the night before, and I didn't blame him. Sofia started to watch him, too, and I knew she was thinking about how he had suddenly seemed to come undone, and I didn't blame her.

So I started to think about Swifty, but it was a dead end. I couldn't figure him out. I didn't know him anymore.


	25. chase

**note:** Big thanks to Falco Conlon for looking this over, and to everyone who is still reading (and especially reviewing!). You guys are _awesome_. Three more chapters to go! Ah, jeez.**  
**

**twenty-five: **chase.

* * *

It was a tense walk home. The gruff stranger that had escorted Sofia from Iceman's building remained within earshot until we were at Swifty's door. We filed in and it locked behind us. Sofia gave a quiet sigh of relief that I don't think anyone was supposed to hear. She was ahead of me as we made our way into the main room, and I noticed with surprise that she was visibly shaken. It made sense under the circumstances, but… she was normally so composed that I was a little shocked to see her undone like this.

Sofia took a quick look around the main room and stayed standing.

"Swifty, are you sure about this?"

"About what?" he asked, irritated. He had been about to go upstairs.

"Is it safe? Is it, still –"

"Of course it is," he snapped, and stomped off. She stared after him for a moment, then took a seat on the couch and looked into the ashes in the fireplace. I didn't know what to do.

Dutchy was standing by one of the windows, straight as an arrow. I moved closer. He was whiter than usual, his eyes wide open and distant. I recognized this look. I touched his arm gently and he jerked away. Well, as long as he wasn't hurting anyone…

As I was about to turn back to Sofia, something caught the corner of my eye and I froze. It was the man that had shadowed us home. He hadn't left. In fact, he was standing across the street under an awning staring very hard at our door. He didn't look like he was going to leave anytime soon. Had we been tricked?

I was about to mention this to Sofia when Swifty reappeared, looking no different than before.

"Swifty," Sofia said softly, "boys… where is Boots?"

I felt a sudden flare of pain in my chest. Swifty stopped, looked quickly at Sofia, quickly at me, and then at the floorboards. He started to move toward the kitchen door, but I stopped him.

"You knew," I said accusingly, not moving from my spot behind the couch. "You _knew_ and you never told anyone!"

He met my eyes without remorse. Sofia looked between the two of us, confused and anxious. "Race…?" she began, but I was focused solely on Swifty. Thoughts of the man outside the window fled from my mind.

"You knew!" I repeated, disbelief edging into my voice.

"Yeah, and so what?" Swifty snarled. "Doesn't change anything."

"It could have."

"It wouldn't have. You made the fucking promise, _not_ me."

"You could have warned us! Helped him! He didn't _deserve_ that!"

"No one deserves that. Tell me, Race, why are you acting like such a saint all of the sudden?"

"What?!" There was no way he was going to spin this to be about me.

"Like you haven't held a secret. Like you haven't known about something bad. Like you haven't kept information to yourself. Don't fuck with me and don't blame me just because you feel guilty for leading him into a trap. Don't even start."

Now my blood was really boiling, and all the hurt and anger and exhaustion of the past days was coming to a head. "It always comes back to you, doesn't it, Swifty? You think you know my motives for everything because you're so fucking smart, but you're full of bullshit. I might have felt bad for you once, a long time ago, but how can you keep up the victim face when you're bringing home a different girl every night?"

"Oh, so you want to talk about running away-"

"I don't want to talk about anything with an alcoholic piece of shit –"

"I fucking give you shelter and all this and now –"

"_Enough._" Sofia stood and yelled with enough force to shut us both up and bring Dutchy back from wherever he was. He blinked a few times and gave us a confused frown.

"Enough," she said again, looking at us from one to the other and trembling slightly. I think I was shaking too; I was that angry. "What happened to the boy?" she asked levelly. I looked pointedly at Swifty, not willing to give up yet. He glared back but turned and spoke to Sofia all the same.

"They sold him into slavery."

Behind me, Dutchy drew in a sharp breath. Sofia turned to me, eyes wide.

"We didn't sell anything," I said. "We made a promise to Madame Proulx that we would deliver the boy to his next 'employer' in exchange for the ingredient list. No one knew who the 'employer' was. Except Swifty."

But she didn't turn back to Swifty, not just then. She just shook her head at me, eyes narrowing, and stepped back so she could see all of us at once.

"Listen to you, both of you," she glowered. "Arguing like little boys. You disgust me right now, both of you." She focused on Swifty. "You're cowards, _los ambos_. You think you will forget her if you get enough women and drink enough rum. But you cannot stand the thought of losing her for good, or else you would have returned to the Other side long ago."

She turned her attention to me and barely took a breath, saying, "You think that no one cares what you do and that what you do has no consequences. You run away, you refuse to apologize, and once enough time has passed, you come back and do it all over again."

Her gaze did not soften when she looked at Dutchy. "Get me the ingredients. I have a promise to keep, but the sooner I am out, the better." She made for the kitchen, but paused at the door and turned back to our dumbfounded faces. "Thank you for rescuing me, _boys_. I feel _so_ much safer here with you." She slammed the door behind her.

It was the first time I'd ever heard her be sarcastic. While I was shocked enough to remain rooted in place, Swifty wasted no time. He stormed past me and out the front door. Dutchy watched him go, then looked at me questioningly.

"To the bars, I guess," I said. "Go get the ingredients."

He went upstairs and I collapsed into one of the chairs, ready, like Sofia, to be done with the whole thing.

* * *

"I don't know if I'm ready to go back," Dutchy said wearily, breaking his mute stretch. He was sitting in the chair across from mine. My feet were up on the table in the center, his hands were massaging his neck. I didn't know what to say, because I was beginning to think that I agreed with him. Fortunately, he wasn't really waiting for me to add to the conversation. "I don't know if I'm ready to… I haven't seen him… it feels like such a long time."

"But you just saw him," I pointed out carefully.

"What?"

"By the window, earlier." He flushed, I guess embarrassed that someone had noticed his little spell.

"Oh… yeah. I did."

I waited a beat, then asked quietly, "How was he?"

Dutch shrugged a little and lowered his eyes. "I dunno," he said. "It's hard to tell. When I see him… I don't think I can explain it. It's not like seeing someone in the street, it's more… it's hard to focus, to put all the pieces together. But… it's getting easier." He frowned. "It's getting easier, which I think is bad. When I first saw him, I didn't recognize him at first. I didn't know. But now it's clearer. More solid. I guess it makes sense, I guess if… well, he's nearing the end of his time on the Other side…" We were both silent, then he suddenly switched subjects. "Swifty grew up, didn't he?"

"What?" I asked, then realized what he meant. Our discussion with Iceman hadn't started out as the most productive conversation. Swifty had always been a smooth talker, it was just part of his character. And on top of that was the persuasion piece. Both elements had been absent earlier that day.

"Yeah," I said finally, feeling a little strange. "Yeah, I guess he did." I couldn't help but wonder how much longer I had.

"It's bad enough to go back and have to deal with everything… everyone… explanations and everything, when we suddenly appear and fix Specs," Dutchy was saying, but I got the impression that he was kind of talking to himself. "But what if it doesn't work? What if we're too late? Then what will I do?"

The empty feeling in my stomach that rose as he spoke was not strong enough to defeat my exhaustion, and as we sat safe in the chairs in a comfortable silence, I felt myself slowly drift away.

* * *

"Antonio… Antonio…"

I couldn't have been woken by a sweeter voice. I cracked my eyelids open and peered up at Sofia's rueful smile. A few hours ago she may have been ripping me to shreds, but true to form, that was behind her now.

"_Lo siento, tìo._ I'm sorry to wake you. But I thought that maybe you would want this." She held an open palm out to me. The glass vial there wasn't any bigger than her small hand. It was filled three quarters with a brown tinted liquid.

"All that work for this?" I asked groggily, thinking maybe she was holding out the wrong hand. "You've got to be kidding me."

She pushed my face down with her free hand and giggled a little. I found myself smiling, too. I literally felt some of the weight on my shoulders fall off… we had it. We had the Cure.

Dutchy stirred, waking up from the sound of our voices. Sofia crept over to him and sat on one of the arms of his chair. "_Buenos dìas_," she said playfully. She took Dutchy's hand and put the vial in it. "You give this to him, your Specs… give all of it to him. He will sleep. When he wakes, he will say, 'I have had the most strange dream…'"

"And then what do I say?" Dutchy asked, rubbing at his eyes and holding the vial up to what meager light there was from the windows. Sofia just shrugged, grinning again.

But her grin vanished as both windows broke, showering the floor with bits of glass. Something heavy hit the door, or the wall, I couldn't tell. I was up and grabbing my friends and trying to figure out what was happening and where we could go. The main room was too open, but there was definitely something at the door, and I didn't want to be trapped upstairs. A cobblestone sailed through one of the window gaps with enough force to travel all the way to the mantel, where it hit with a loud crash.

"I thought this place was safe!" Dutchy yelled accusingly.

"Don't look at me!" I snapped back, angry, but scared, too. And it figured that Swifty wouldn't be here. People were gathering outside the house, a good number of men in dark clothes and dark hair. I couldn't see anything else from where we were backed into a corner. Suddenly I remembered Sofia's escort. I couldn't see him. "What happened to your guard?" I asked her. "Is this Iceman? Your guard! He didn't leave!"

Another thud at the door, I felt a tremor from this one. The windows were too small to crawl through, and the people outside were just the slightest bit hesitant at getting too close, but they were making their way over.

"This isn't Iceman," she promised. "I don't know… hurry, let's go to-"

The kitchen door burst open and Swifty only gave the main room a quick glance before yelling at us. "What are you doing over there!? Get the fuck outta here!"

We sprinted together across the room and ducked through the door. Swifty didn't bother to try and secure it after us. As we scrambled to get around the mess that Sofia had created in the kitchen, I heard what I guessed was the sound of people jumping through the windows.

"We have about three seconds to escape," Swifty growled as he yanked open the back door. It led to his tiny yard, and vaulting the yard's fence led to a dizzying maze of more yards, alleys, stairs, and tunnels. I could only remember having braved this chaos once before.

At first we ran through the narrow pathways in a line, trying to put some distance between us and the house. But Swifty and I both knew that that wouldn't be good enough. When we reached a wider section of the alley, we had to stop. Five different paths led off from this one. Swifty and I made eye contact and I looked away, grabbing Dutchy's elbow.

"You have it?" I asked. He nodded, breathing hard.

"You ok?" Swifty asked Sofia. She gave him a weak smile.

Shouts, accompanied by heavy boots on cold stone echoed all around us. It was hard to tell if they were getting closer.

So this was it.

We didn't have time for any words, thank yous, or goodbyes. So we let those go, at least for now. Dutchy and I, we had to get to that bridge. I pulled him toward the right and we took off running again. I didn't know where Swifty and Sofia would go, but I knew they would manage.

Dutchy kept looking back over his shoulder as we ran, but I kept my eyes forward. My feet, my eyes, my brain; everything began to work automatically. I couldn't allow myself to think about what was happening or what had happened. There was only one thing to do, and that was to get to the bridge before anyone caught up with us.

We emerged onto Free Street and slowed to a fast walk. My directional skills had paid off once again, because we were only a block away from the shallow, dirty river that Iceman's bridge crossed. The bridge was a simple arch, paved with cobblestones, railings on either side to prevent drunkards from falling into the disease-ridden water. A small staircase to the left of the bridge led under the structure. From what I could remember, all we would have to do was get to the stairs and walk down. I assumed we would end up on some steps in the Other Manhattan. I assumed.

The stairs were guarded by two tall men in dark, wool, fisherman sweaters. They stood when it was clear that we intended to use the stair. They looked us up and down and spoke to one another loudly in a harsh and unfamiliar language. Finally they stepped aside and let us go past. Dutchy led the way and strode down confidently. I followed, eyes glued to his back.

Behind us, I heard shouting and commotion, and the two guards began to argue with each other. I continued down, and darkness began to swim from the edge of my vision.

Nothing good ever came from looking back.


	26. cure

**note: **Thanks again to Falco for reading through and listening to my worries/complaints/ideas. And... oh man. Two left, and it's summer, so they'll be here soon. AHH.

**twenty-six: **cure.

* * *

My steps grew slower and slower and I wished desperately for a railing to hold onto. The blackness was beginning to fade, but my vision was still blurry, and I felt lightheaded and dizzy. My knees trembled as I felt for the next stair, only to come up short and realize that I was already on level ground. I could hear Dutch taking deep breaths somewhere nearby. I crouched down and rubbed at my eyes, willing my body to recover.

"You okay?" I croaked out.

"Fine," he said. "You?"

"Alright." I straightened and looked around. I knew where we were. We didn't have any time to lose. "Let's go," I said to Dutchy. "Can you make it?"

He didn't answer, just fell into step beside me. That feeling, that sickness from crossing over too soon, it lingered, but it wasn't as bad as before; it wasn't debilitating. We'd at least had a little time to rest, and now we were back for good, so we just had to take it in stride and trust that there would be recovery time later. Dutchy was pale, and I was sweating, but we were near the end of our mission, and it was going to take a lot more than an upset stomach to keep me from the Lodging House.

We rushed, half running, toward home. We looked like shit; that was obvious. We looked dangerous. We were pushed on by a strange mixture of excitement and anxiety, wanting to finish our job but dreading going back into the real world, where we would be attacked with questions and accusations from all sides. I think that maybe I was only worried about our coming reception at the Lodging House because it kept me from thinking about the real problem at hand, about Specs. Part of me wanted to think that I would know if Specs was gone, that Dutchy would know, or even Sofia. But even that hope was shadowed by a grim acceptance of the fact that if nothing had gone right from the start – why would this?

I was preparing myself for failure, for being an hour too late, or three days behind. We had saved Sofia without any blood and we had created the Cure from scratch. We had convinced Spot Conlon to give up his ace of spades, and all this in the name of Love. Well, that's how it looked on the outside, at least. But there were so many other things going on underneath the surface. It made me glad to be on the Other side again, because I figured that any role I'd played in the games of all those people – Spot, Iceman, Pete – was over and done with. We'd escaped from Swifty's house and crossed over without being chased or followed, at least not now. But that was no reason to let up, it was no reason to go any slower than we would have, had Brooklyn himself been on our tail.

There was only one point when I had my misgivings. We were waiting to cross a busy corner about six blocks from the Lodging House when I felt all the hair on the back of my neck stand up and a shiver work its way down my spine. I resisted the urge to look around, just figuring I was on edge and imagining things. That was a mistake, but I didn't realize it at the time, and the whole thing soon disappeared from my thoughts.

* * *

It was Dutchy that opened the door. It was early evening and the sun was in the midst of falling. We knew that most of the boys, if not already home, were on their way. They would be grabbing some food and getting ready for the night, whether that meant going out or hanging around the house for a few hushed card games or an early night's sleep.

He pushed the door open and strode in, boots echoing on the dead spots of the floor. Everything was so familiar. How long had we been away? They would think days. It had been over a week for us, but that seemed impossible. I felt like I was seeing everything with new eyes. The light was dim and dusty and what must have been raucous noise upstairs filtered down as quiet murmurs. Kloppman sat at his desk with a paper, muttering to himself. If he heard us enter, he did not look up. Why should he? It was just a normal day.

Dutchy stood rooted in place in the middle of the lobby. He clenched the Cure tightly in his left hand. I touched his shoulder and flashed him a grin that I wasn't feeling in my heart. I was still nervous, still wary. I stepped beyond Dutchy and purposefully put my weight on that treacherous board in front of the stairs, the one that creaks like the devil and has ruined many a boy's nighttime escape.

Kloppman raised his eyes and locked them with mine. He stood slowly and stiffly. His expression was equal parts hope and apprehension, but he seemed hesitant to break the silence.

Suddenly the front door banged open, causing all of us to jump a little. It was Snipeshooter, a little runt of a boy probably around the same age as Boots. He barreled into Dutchy and then stumbled back, about to fire off some smartass comment when he finally realized who we were. So he smiled instead.

"Hiya boys," he chirped. "Where yas been, anyways, huh?"

"None of your business," I said, putting a hand on the back of his head and pushing him forward playfully. He swung around to punch me, but missed, and so continued up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Kloppman ignored him.

"Do you have it?" he asked us breathlessly. I looked over my shoulder at Dutchy. I mean, my job here was done. I guess if I'd wanted to, I could have left the Lodging House and never looked back. But why would I do that?

Dutchy nodded. Kloppman didn't say anything else, so after an awkward pause, I led the way up the stairs. Now was not the time to be shy.

The door to the bunkroom was closed, and I opened it without hesitation. For a moment, the noise and chaos of a few dozen rowdy boys engulfed me, then it died down rapidly and a small crowd began to surround us. Skittery broke through the group and stared me down. Dutchy stepped forward and I could see him start to panic a little. I gave Skittery a weak smile and he laughed with relief and clapped me on the back.

"Just in time, I think," he whispered to me so Dutch wouldn't hear. Then he grabbed Dutchy's arm and started to bring us to Specs' bunk. Immediately, we were hit with questions and jokes from all sides, but I just tuned them out. I looked around as we made our way over and saw a variety of expressions. Some boys were relieved, like Skittery, and even joyful, boys that had been over to the Dark, or at least knew the truth behind Specs' predicament. Others were confused, or surprised, but glad to see us nonetheless. Dutchy and I were popular, but hadn't been best friends, and it must have been pretty strange for us to just up and leave together. I'm sure that everyone had had their own explanation as to where we'd gone, which wouldn't have helped. But none of that mattered. We weren't done, not just yet.

The crowd persisted and grew as more and more boys came to see what was happening. We couldn't get them to go away, at least not until we got near Specs. Even then, some of them followed, curious against their better judgment. As we approached, Pie-eater, ever loyal, stood up from a chair positioned at Specs' head. His expression was unreadable. He looked at Specs, then at us, and then just melted back into the wall of boys that had formed. I frowned and watched him go, wanting to thank him, or at least say something. But then I was distracted from that, too, because I saw Specs.

I paled. This was not the boy we'd left behind just days before. I only even knew it was him because it could be no one else. He lay straight out on the bunk, a threadbare blanket covering him up to his chest. He was white as a ghost except for dark, bruise-like spots under his eyes. His cheeks were sunken in and his collarbones stood out sharply. He was just a shell of his former self.

His glasses weren't around but his eyes were open and staring at the ceiling. They were clouded over like a blind man's, and saw nothing. Every once in awhile, his mouth would work as if he wanted to say something, or his skinny arms would shake a little, but I doubted he had any idea what was going on. He wasn't with us; he wasn't in this world.

I couldn't stop staring, but Dutchy just brushed right by me and knelt down at Specs' head. A hush fell over the room as Dutchy's eyes searched his Love's face, taking everything in and yet not quite believing it.

I stepped back, suddenly feeling out of place. Dutch finally tore his gaze away and took the top off the vial, his hands trembling slightly. I heard a scuffle behind me and turned to find Kloppman weaving his way toward us.

"Let me take care of this," he said kindly, letting a hand fall on Dutchy's shoulder. He was trying to redeem himself for walking out on us in the beginning. I guess I couldn't really blame him, and Dutchy looked relieved as he carefully handed the Cure to the old man. Someone pushed the chair forward and Kloppman sat slowly, instructing Dutchy to go to the other side of the bunk and support Specs' head.

Dutchy sat on the bed and held him up as Kloppman tipped the contents of the vial down his throat with a slow deliberateness. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was holding my breath – me and half the room, probably. I didn't know what to expect; none of us did. Sofia said he would sleep. We watched. We waited.

Kloppman studied his charge for a moment, then stood with a grunt and waved us off. "Give him some room," he ordered, but there was no real weight behind his words, and he disappeared downstairs. What did that mean?

I looked back. Specs' eyes were closed, his breathing slow and deep. His hands were still, one of them clutched tightly by Dutchy. Dutchy was in his own world, a world with a population of two. I realized then what I should have known all along. It would never be any more.

Feeling strangely empty, I turned and made for the stairs. I had this theory that the ache in my stomach could be cured with a cigarette. It'd been forever and a day since I'd had enough time to sit back and take a few good drags. Food wouldn't hurt, either, and at some point I'd need to start working and get some money.

I was home, it was over, and so my mind turned to normal things. The boys were finally beginning to clear out, the excitement over for the night. They filtered into the washroom or their own bunks and some even ran ahead of me and jumped down the stairs, eager for a night of freedom. I didn't hear Kloppman reprimanding them for roughhousing, so I assumed that he'd left to go for a walk, or whatever he did to unwind.

I paused and was glancing around the bunkroom, trying to decide who would be the most likely to bum me a smoke, when I remembered that I was the hero here, if only for the remainder of this night. Any of these guys would throw me a cig if it meant easing their guilt for not being able to help the poor kid on the bunk.

"Ey, Snitch," I called to a gangly boy sitting on his bed and counting change. "What gives?"

He nodded and jumped down to give me a hard handshake. "Good to see your ugly mug again, Higgins," he said.

"Listen kid, you gotta light?"

"Yeah, sure I do."

I grinned a little as he grabbed a matchbook from his pillow. "Oh, yeah, an' you gotta stick to go with it?"

He laughed and rolled his eyes, but took a cigarette from behind his ear and gave it to me all the same. "Rolled it myself," he added as he struck a match. "Hey, are we gonna see you at Medda's tonight?"

"We'll see," I said, taking a quick and satisfying puff. "I think I gotta date with my pillow."

He laughed again and moved on, leaving me with a small smile and a smoke cloud around my head. We were never supposed to smoke in the bunkroom, so I made for the stairs once again, looking forward to some downtime on the stoop outside. It's the simple pleasures in life that really matter.

I had my blinders on and was only thinking about myself. That's the only explanation I have for why I didn't see Bumlets until I literally ran right into him. He was at the bottom of the staircase and we both fell to the wood floor with a loud thump. I groaned and propped myself up on an elbow, ready to fire off some comment about Bumlets, his mother, and her line of work. Then I noticed that my hand was covered in blood, and I forgot all about my insults, and my smoke, too.

What had I done, landed on a loose nail? But I didn't hurt. And Bumlets hadn't moved. All of these observations hit me at once and I quickly went to his side. He was curled up into a ball, whispering something and clutching at his stomach. I rolled him onto his back and grimaced; his front was covered in red and his eyes were wide and empty with shock.

It was dark outside, and the lamps in the lobby threw out a strange, misleading kind of light, but I knew that I wasn't seeing things. That's when I heard that floorboard creak, and I finally looked up, and couldn't have been more surprised at what I saw staring me down with a filthy knife and a dirty sneer.

Morris Delancy, his brother Oscar at his shoulder, both of them smug with the knowledge that they had me cornered.


	27. finale

**note: **Woww. It's over. Twenty-seven chapters, 135 pages, 80,312 words, and months - nay, years! (kind of) - of plotting and writing... needless to say, I'm pretty damn excited. It's not often that I actually finish a story. So before you begin the end, I have a few things to say. First off, a huge thanks to Sophie a.k.a. Falco Conlon, who manages to be both my rock and my sounding board and, um, incredibly cool in the process.

Thanks also to BC a.k.a. Lost Duck, and Shortie, for the 30 minute seshes and therapeutic rants and whatnot. ;)

Biiiig thanks to all my readers and reviewers, especially Rogue, Stress, Gothitica, B, Bittah, and Dholla, who have been faithfully reviewing every chapter... you guys are awesommmme.

I can't leave out Omni, truemizzie/Polly, Passionate Fire, Maddie, and Pickle, for dropping by to tell me what they thought every few chapters. :)

Special thanks go to - Yorkshire tea, "Whisperings" piano radio station on iTunes radio, hot showers, cough drops, Latin class, and my desk chair.

Ok, almost done. There is a sequel in the works, it is called "Amends." I do expect to write and finish it, but it will not be updated as consistently as "Epic" was, so if you're interested in reading, I would suggest you put it on "story alert" (once its published) so you can keep track. :)

And, finally, a request to anyone reading. If you haven't reviewed, please drop me a line, either a review or an email or something. I would love to hear what you think, how you liked it, what you thought of the end - or even just a "hey, what's up, I read this." What can I say - I'm curious!

* * *

**  
**

**twenty-seven: **finale

* * *

I had no idea what to think, nevermind what I should do. So I continued staring, while Bumlets groaned at my side and tried to crawl away. Oscar Delancy just crossed over and kicked him down and stood over him, as if daring Bumlets to make another move. Bumlets remained still.

I knew the Delancy brothers had ties to the Dark, but that didn't explain why they were here. They weren't here for Bumlets, or for me. Then Oscar looked hungrily up toward the stairs, and I began to get an idea about what was going on. Unfortunately, my thought process was stopped by Morris's boot in my face. I rolled over with a grimace and started to stand, but he punched me down again before I could get straight.

My head reeled and my stomach protested. I wasn't the best fighter on a good day – usually my mouth was able to get me out of any trouble – and here I was, still feeling weak after crossing over, unable to get my bearings.

I scooted to the back wall and stood against it, dodging a throw from Morris. His fist hit the wall with a satisfying crack, but my luck didn't last long. He came up even closer and kneed me in the gut hard enough to take my breath away. I tried to double over and recover, but instead he pinned me to the wall with one strong arm, then brought his knife up an inch away from my face. I couldn't do much more than narrow my eyes with false bravery.

"Let's go, let's go," Oscar snapped from the bottom of the stairs. Morris turned to glare at him, shoving his arm into me as he did so. It slipped against my chest and ended up pressing on my throat. My eyes widened as I tried to push his arm away and get a good breath, but he just shoved it again, causing black spots to pop up in front of my eyes.

Bumlets was out on the floor, and upstairs there was too much noise for them to hear anything. Morris nodded at Oscar and looked at me again, almost disappointed that he had to leave. He let me go and as I stumbled forward, hit me in the back of the knees and then slammed my head into the floor.

I must have blacked out for a few seconds, but I came to in time to see the brothers heading up the stairs, Morris with his knife and Oscar in front of him with a heavy wooden bat. I felt sick, and not just because of my beating. But I couldn't move, and my head hurt so much that I could barely tell which way was up, and the best I could do was let out a strangled cry – "_DUTCH!_" – that I don't think come out loud enough for even Morris to hear.

They reached the top of the stairs while I was dragging myself to the first step. Oscar moved for the handle with one last, knowing smirk over his shoulder. And in that split second, with Oscar's attention averted, the door banged open, hitting him in the back of the head and sending him into his brother's chest. They staggered, but Morris grabbed the railing and managed to keep their balance.

Pie-eater was in the doorway, looking not impassive like before, but mad as hell. He punched Oscar in the jaw, hard, and then yanked the bat from his grasp and nailed Morris on the side of the head. Morris dropped like a stone and slid down a few steps backward. Pie-eater took the opportunity to give Oscar a huge push. The boy fell over his brother's body and hit the stairs almost at the bottom. I rolled quickly away.

Somehow, Oscar got up, and pulled on Morris's leg to get him down the stairs. Pie-eater advanced halfway down, slowly, but stopped, apparently ready to let them go. I knew better. They were beat up, but determined. Oscar yanked his brother up and backed out of the door, practically dragging Morris's woozy form along with him. Pie-eater didn't follow, he just dropped the bat and went back upstairs. Right before he did, though, he looked down at me. I had been watching the Delancy's, but felt his gaze, and painfully craned my head around to meet it. Once again, his face was unreadable. He left.

I pulled my body to the window and propped myself up against the sill. Oscar and Morris were still in view, resting, but glaring back at the Lodging House and arguing. I guess maybe they were more scared of whoever had given them orders than they were of whatever beating they would take here. They were going to try again. My breath caught in my throat. It was Brooklyn. It had to be. He must have known we had the Cure, and now he wasn't messing around. Maybe he'd tried to kill Specs before, maybe it just hadn't worked. But he wouldn't stand for his plans being messed up again. He wanted the Delancys to make sure the job was done.

Once again I was at a loss for to do. I slumped down into a sitting position, hoping that Pie-eater would somehow let the others know, the bigger boys, so they wouldn't be caught off guard. I tried to gather my strength. Bumlets was breathing loudly, and I'd just made up my mind to go to him when I heard a familiar, but surprising sound.

Shouting. Not just shouting, but joyful, mocking shouting. Jack's voice. I abandoned Bumlets for the window once more. Jack and Mush were rounding the corner, on their way home from a long day of selling. They had run smack into Oscar and Morris and now Jack was taunting them while Mush rolled up his sleeves, laughing at Jack's jokes but staring hard at the Delancys.

Morris had lost his knife in the fall down the stairs, and he knew that he was in trouble. I couldn't hear any words, but whatever he said to Jack was probably the wrong thing, because in the next instant, both Jack and Mush advanced and attacked the brothers, who were already dazed and hurting.

I couldn't help but grin. Jack would probably never know that he had blindly saved the day once again.

Kloppman entered the Lodging House, almost hitting me with the door. He was complaining about young ruffians and broken bones, but cut short when he saw Bumlets curled up next to the staircase. There was blood spotting the floor, both his and mine, and the brothers', too. Kloppman didn't even see me, but it was okay. I just rubbed at my throat gingerly and tried standing.

"Ha! And _stay_ out!" Jack shouted as he and Mush burst into the lobby with identical grins.

"Oh, shit, Race, what happened? And where've you been?" Mush asked, the malice fading from his eyes. This is the kid I was used to. Jack frowned.

"Don't ask," I sighed. "Help Kloppman with Bumlets."

They ran over and I made for the stairs. I felt like I'd never seen so many steps in my life. Still, I had this need to see Specs, and Dutchy, and to make sure they were both all right.

I entered the bunkroom, wobbly, but still walking, and went to Specs' bunk. I slowed as I approached. Specs still looked awful, but his breathing was slow and even, his eyes were closed, and he looked… peaceful, I guess. He would be okay. And so would Dutchy, I saw. Dutch was kneeling on the floor, but was bent over the bed, his head on Specs' chest. His glasses were askew on his face and he, too, was asleep.

I felt strange, looking at them, like I was intruding on something, even though they were right in the middle of a crowded bunkroom. One of Dutchy's hands was under his head as a sort of pillow, the other held Specs' hand loosely. Even Dutch looked healthier, regaining some of his color. He looked like he was completely at home, resting with Specs like that.

I had a strange lump in my throat, and it wasn't from Morris. I looked around the bunkroom, at all the boys running to and fro or just lounging in bed, and I felt alone. I tried to get back that feeling, the one I'd had at the beginning of all this. _"I believe in this,_" I thought. It echoed in my mind but there was no response. Home. _This is your home. You're home_, I told myself. But I didn't believe it.

I guess I was just tired, and sore. I needed a break before I got back into the swing of things. I turned back toward the door, full of confusion. As I wove through the masses, I got a few slaps on the back and quick handshakes ("Good to have ya back!" "Ey, nice job, kiddo."), but nothing could take away the feeling I had that I was walking alone, with everyone else far away.

I took the stairs slowly, not wanting to slip on the blood that was pooled. Bumlets and his caretakers were gone, probably to the hospital. _You're done_, I told myself. _You don't have to take care of anyone anymore. It's just you. All you gotta do is look out for yourself. Just like before. Just like always._ I was not comforted. I paused at the door, not really sure what I was doing. I needed to go for a walk, get some fresh air, take my mind of things. I needed a smoke, a whole one this time.

So I pushed through and went out, my hands in my pockets and my eyes on the ground, and walked where my feet took me. And for the first time in my life… I knew I was lost.

* * *

It wasn't long before my feet and head had separated themselves and began to work independently of one another. I walked aimlessly, not knowing where I was going, but unable to completely lose myself in a city that I knew like the back of my hand. I had to get out of Manhattan, but I couldn't bring myself to do that, either. So I wandered.

I tried to identify the hard emptiness in my stomach. I had done what I set out to do, so why wasn't I celebrating? Why wasn't I grinning alongside Dutch, happy to be alive? But it wasn't loneliness.

I jammed my hands deep into my pockets and leaned back against a nearby building, taking a quick break. Boots. I'd been trying to keep my mind off the whole ordeal since it had happened, but now there was nothing else to think about, and the guilt was like a constant cramp in my side.

Boots. His name was angry in my head. We wouldn't be where we were without the kid, and yet even in his innocence, he was the one punished while we ran free. We hadn't seen it coming, but we should have. And Swifty…

I shook my head, as if the action would bounce the thoughts from my mind. The only thing it accomplished was to help my headache return.

The tips of my fingers brushed against something at the bottom of one of my pockets, and I brought the package out with a confused frown. I shook it next to my ear… seeds. It wasn't that long ago that Blink had handed me the seeds. It was supposed to be part of my payment to Sofia. I guess I should have known all along that she wouldn't have accepted any payment, anyway.

I slipped the packet back in my pocket and thought of her, and Swifty. I was confident that they had made it to safety, but curious about where they had ended up. And what would they do now? Swifty's house would be destroyed, and he would have to start from scratch – again. And, again, he would most likely decide that the whole thing was my fault.

And Sofia? Maybe she would stay with Swifty. She had never been over to Our side. I wondered if she knew that Spot was about to go in and wage war. I wondered what she would think, and if she would help him. She hadn't seen him in years, but he clearly still thought of her as his girl.

I continued walking, ignoring the growing dark. My plan was to walk until I couldn't move another step, and see where I ended up. With my luck, it would probably be right at the Lodging House door, in a full, ironic circle. But I knew I couldn't go back there. For whatever reason – I was too old, or too different, or too crazy – it wasn't my home anymore.

The fact that I had just decided to end my long career as a newsie and essentially leave behind my lifelong friends did not affect me as much as it might have at another time. My mind was too busy with other things, namely the guilt that I couldn't escape. Boots' face, and his grin, refused to leave me behind.

I found myself at the edge of Battery Park, watching the sun set over the harbor, and almost enjoying the strange quiet of dusk. My feet hurt, my head hurt, my throat hurt, and the packet of seeds rattled in my pocket to remind me never to forget them again.

I had truly gone as far as I could go, with only rocks and waves in front of me. But maybe my feet knew what they were doing, even if my head did not. I looked down. I knew what I would see before I even laid my eyes on them - two gray stones, each the size of my palm, buried next to each other in the dirt off the bridle path. I looked around myself, and saw not a soul.

I stepped on the stones, one foot on each, and took my hands out of my pockets. I didn't have to be lost. I didn't have to be homeless, either, or to abandon my friends. I bounced a little on the balls of my feet and peered over the edge.

Maybe I wasn't done. Maybe getting the Cure was not the end, not for me, at least. Specs would wake from what he thought to be a bizarre dream and tell Dutchy all about it. Dutch would raise his eyebrows skeptically and laugh along with his Love. Swifty and Sofia, they would be helping Spot, somehow. And, well, Spot was probably just about getting ready to cross over for the first time in three years. Did I really want to miss any of that?

But really, what it came down to was this: Boots. I owed him.

I grinned, and was surprised at how good it felt. Then I took once last, lingering glance behind me, squared my shoulders, and jumped.

* * *

_Fin._


End file.
